random ruminations

condura run for the dolphins 2010

2009-12-23T05:09:19Z

one of my photos from the condura run for the whale sharks is on the banner of the premier running event of the philippines. i'd like to encourage all my friends to join: there is nothing quite as rewarding as running on the skyway, believe me you. i hope to be in good shape by the 7th of february 2010 so i can erase the ghost of my last half-marathon and finish in less than 2 hours and 15 minutes. faster would be better, but we can never tell. thanks concepcion industries for featuring my photo. i've got to say though that half of my photos is better than most of those posted on the banner. haha.

24 not-so-random things

2009-12-22T10:08:29Z

so i found this file in my drive. back in february, i answered a "25 random things about me" survey when a friend tagged me in facebook. i recall thinking that the list was far too random. but then again, there was nothing extremely novel about the things i said about me. i've basically given a summary of things that i've frequently said on the blog. and i think that's what prompted this new list. it's a list of not-so-random things. the choice of subjects is fairly deliberate, though not necessarily carefully done. these are things that i've probably not explored in great detail in the blog. so notice that there is nothing here about mountaineering or travel or photography. i don't think i can even provide links to a previous entry or subject. anyway, it was supposed to be another list of 25 things. but the reason it had taken too long in the burner is that i couldn't even get to write 22 things. i added a few more beginning yesterday. here it is:

I consciously mark people who do not fulfill commitments, whose declarations are empty bravado, who back out of a plan at the last minute, and make up false alibis about sick relatives and urgent work-related hindrances. I never ever believe them, and will not invite them to join me whenever I hatch ideas because I hate people who break promises. No commitment is too big or too small for me, and I always expect delivery.

I am a man of my word. I would rather not make statements, even small ones, if I know that I cannot pursue them. I stick to my declarations, and will not deny that I made them at some future time when it inconveniences me.

When leafing through random magazines or newspapers to kill time, or while waiting for my turn to get a haircut or something similar, I always start at the back, and put the material down once I am at the beginning. I wonder whether this has any psychological implications.

I have trouble sleeping. To be more specific, I have trouble keeping myself asleep. Unless I’m stone drunk or drugged, I frequently wake up at least twice in the early hours of the morning. Sometimes my dreams are too intense, and sometimes I wake up when water drips from a faucet. This “disorder” makes me all the more groggy when I finally have to get up because I’m not well-rested despite being prostrate on the bed for at least 7 hours and I often feel tired and sleepy throughout the day. I just looked it up, and it’s apparently called middle-of-the-night insomnia. I just bought a bottle of 3mg Melatonin. I hope that helps a little.

I am actually very shy. I do not consciously crave attention and deride being talked about. Although I would volunteer to do my spiels and skits at no one’s initiative, I would hesitate to perform when prodded. One of my greatest fears is public humiliation.

Unlike most people, I do not judge persons I have just met, and do not decide based on a first meeting that I like or dislike that person. The default is that I like everyone… until they cross me, and that’s it.

I can make friends with everyone regardless of their status and stature. I do not discriminate based on a person’s education and material wealth, or lack of either.

Despite number 7, I do not strike conversation with strangers on the bus or on a queue unless I need to ask a question. But I will pursue a conversation with anyone who initiates it, unless it’s a general complaint about the Philippines going to the dogs.

Except in court and in meetings with other lawyers involving a matter of legal importance (and on those occasions, it’s usually already presumed, so I would even say, rarely), I have never, ever, introduced myself as Atty. Alman. I do not append that title when I write my name on guest books or when I fill out forms or when the fact of my being a lawyer has nothing to do with the circumstance. Lawyers, doctors, and other titled professionals who tattoo their special prefixes and suffixes to their names are insecure.

I am so bad at math, simple arithmetic sometimes eludes me. I think it’s because I began with a fear of numbers, and consequently never managed to develop my mathematical abilities. Or it could have been the awful tutor I had as a Tulong Dunong kid in a public elementary school.

My English often misleads people to assume that I was schooled in exclusive private schools and was raised by an affluent family. But the truth is we are not rich at all. I worked through college and law school, beginning with a job at Wendy’s, then as a student assistant, then as a staff of a research institution. I would have never finished school if I didn’t get scholarships. My English is the result of having a good ear, good reading, and a talent for accents.

My first email account was the one assigned to me when I matriculated at the National University of Singapore in 1997. But my first web-based email account was one I created that same year using Rocketmail. When I entered law school the following year, I shifted to Justicemail. Then when the UP Webmail became available, I used it until I breached its 10MB capacity, and moved to Gmail late in 2004. In all of these email addresses, I never really used odd, cutesy, pretentious, or descriptive usernames peppered with adjectives or titles or numbers or strange words. I just utilize my birth name, to make it sound “official” and “permanent”. I never felt the desire to be unique or “with the times”, because these are things you outgrow.

My parents were Marcos loyalists during the turbulent times of the late 80s, when Cory Aquino rose to power and it was generally uncool or unhip to associate yourself with the late dictator. But I don’t blame my parents, and I think history is now kinder to the visionary that Marcos was.

I wouldn’t want to put a label on it, but I am a neo-Nationalist, in the sense that I am a new patriot, in my own, post-colonial, post-war, post-First Quarter Storm, post-EDSA kind of way. I love this nation with a passion, and I have not given up hope on the country, unlike many people of my generation. I have no plans of migrating, because I honestly believe that this country needs people like me, and I owe much of what I am to the Philippines. Although, I will confess that it wasn’t always that way, and as a kid, I dreamt of snow and apples and a Green Card. All that has changed now, and I am damn proud of being Filipino, and not just because it’s recently cool to be patriotic and wear T-shirts embroidered with the Philippine map. I’ve been proudly proclaiming my roots long before it turned into a fashion statement.

I don’t feel comfortable discussing politics or religion with most people because I have very wild ideas when it comes to matters concerning faith and social order that might not be appreciated by most. And I deride pseudo-intellectuals who dish out mediocre and simplistic arguments as though they were so unique and original. Nevertheless, I welcome discussions and debates with people of erudition. If I’m appalled by a person’s simple-mindedness, I would shut up and not share my opinion hoping it would end the discussion. There is no use arguing with people of lesser intelligence.

I happen to be a very good listener, and I can keep quiet when other people enter into their moments.

I am extremely observant, and I notice subtle changes. I think that as a writer, this “skill”, as it were, is far more important than a masterful grasp of language.

I was in UP from June 1993 until September 2002. That entire time, I was fortunate to have never witnessed a fraternity rumble. The only form of fraternity-related (almost) violence I saw was when we went to eat lunch at the Persian House at the UP Arcade during law school, and masked men holding pipes and baseball bats appeared at the entrance, staring down on my good friend and batchmate, Lord Villanueva. We were a huge group, but we were unarmed. I distinctly remember that Lord went deathly pale, but he was immediately hugged and surrounded by the girls around him. After a tense 2 minutes, the men walked off. I denounce all forms of violence in the strongest possible terms, and I don’t know what possesses these bullies to regress into blood-thirsty barbarians.

I have never really thought of myself as fashionable or fashion-forward. My rules on style are simple: wear what makes you feel comfortable and what doesn’t make you feel awkward. Nevertheless, my officewear often gets positively noticed. Since 2002, I have had all my office and formal wear sewn, pants included, by my tailor (I’ve only had two, see 20 below, only the first one decided to change his trade). I choose the cloth and the buttons myself at Kamuning, and proceed to the tailor where I’m measured, with simple instructions like I want it slim and fit but not snug, etc.

I am both a creature of habit and a seeker of change. I don’t normally change barbers, but suffer from chronic taste fatigue syndrome and cannot have the same kind of breakfast everyday.

When I was a lot younger, I would resent my two older brothers whenever they would tune in to a basketball game instead of the shows that I wanted to see. But these days, I’m the one more interested in the sport. But I really only bother about two teams: the Barangay Ginebra Kings in the PBA, and the UP Fighting Maroons in the UAAP. I couldn’t care less about everything else.

Despite what I have said in 6 and 7 above, I am a stubborn snob insofar as social networking sites are concerned. I decline friend invitations from people I do not know, or those I do not remember. Do not expect me to approve your request to add you as a friend if I have no memory of our friendship, or if you are hiding under a pseudonym that I have not been informed of. Also, I do not add people to my list even if they are in fact my friends. They would have to add me. I’m such a diva, that way. Besides, it isn’t about having the biggest web of friends – it’s about having a meaningful network of contacts (that’s taken from Multiply).

I know that other people’s online time is precious and I respect that, so I am not in the habit of forwarding chain mails or jokes or touching anecdotes or prayers and petitions or hilarious photos or e-cards to all my contacts at one time nor do I flood inboxes with messages which may not be relevant or useful or important or material to everyone in my list. I send very specific emails to individuals or a group of people, or carefully-chosen emails to interest-specific e-groups. I think people who routinely forward things that made them chuckle or fight back a tear are neither thoughtful nor sincere. They may even be rude, insensitive, and trivial.

I think of the mobile phone as an evil (albeit a necessary one). Unlike some people, I don’t mind being disconnected every now and then, and I do not feel inexplicably sad if I do not receive a message for a long time. I normally say my name in an SMS to someone whom I think might not have saved my number or who may have deleted it after a certain lapse of time, so I find it rather rude to receive a “Hu r U?” if I expect that person to keep me in his or her contact list. There are actually nicer ways to say that all of your contacts been accidentally deleted. Also, I usually ask people if I can call them because I know that they might be busy and I might be disturbing them.

the need for clichés

2009-12-21T09:38:13Z

updates to the blog have been spotty since the onslaught of the holidays. yes, i just described the arrival of christmas like the coming of a war, because it has been intense, particularly for me, juggling year-end deadlines at work and attending to one get-together after another. i am not complaining for either, actually. it affirms at least the importance of my role at the office and i get to see friends and familiar faces who constantly provide me with a firm but gentle reminder about how great it is to be alive.

i don't know how it started. i'm not even going to say that i was briefly depressed because i don't think there was anything clinical about how i felt. but i became increasingly fatalistic recently and there were mild bouts of surrender, and pessimism followed my like a shadow on a cloudless whole-day afternoon. i had difficulty sleeping mostly because i feared i would not wake. i felt i was sick from something i haven't quite detected, and that everything -- all these temporary, selfish and materialistic pursuits -- was pointless, i might as well just give it up.

it happened, at least if i were to provide some pegs in a timeline, shortly after i saw "2012" and intensified when my left lower mandible inflamed from an abscess for a second time. i began entertaining thoughts about death and the ignominy of collective forgetting, asking myself if i've made enough of an impact for anyone to remember me beyond 40 days after i've died. and it's particularly striking for me because i normally avoid the subject, almost as if i were immortal. and then the stream of my consciousness explored grim end-of-world scenarios much unlike the images of global destruction i saw in "2012", but resulting in comparable death and devastation. i thought about earthquakes -- the big one -- which i've somehow been anticipating following all these tremors in the ring of fire. and now mayon is putting up a brilliant show. i wouldn't mind watching it either. i should drop by the ayala triangle before wednesday.

that lasted a few days only, maybe as many as four, but i can't completely say that i've flushed it out of my system. i can't even say it's benign: it's still there, i would suppose, waiting for the right time to attack. but i'm glad that the slew of parties has pumped me with renewed energy, and i'm basking in the celebratory spirit of my friends: they who cherish life and do not wallow in the despair of its little inconveniences. i need to be happy with what i have and what's been given me, and still feel blessed and fortunate while reaching for my dreams: to live each day like it's my last but take comfort in the fantasy, or even the possibility, that it could be forever.

i've never thought that mouthing a series of clichés could this be comforting. so i'm ending this entry here. i need to go out tonight to share my blessings. i'm feeling generous.

the joy of discovery: mount calavite

2009-12-11T10:54:20Z

the last time i went up a new mountain was in april 2007 when i led the charge up mount napulauan. i considered it a personal milestone in my mountaineering career, because in a nation of islands, there appears to be very few mountains known to those who climb. of course, i have not climbed all the mountains in the philippines, but i have climbed many of them, far too many times. that is why i could not pass up on the opportunity to scale mount calavite, on the northwestern tip of occidental mindoro, a couple of weekends ago. i wasn't supposed to join, actually, and i was a last-minute addition to the team. i risked animosity from a friend in order to take part in a climb. at the beginning, i wondered whether it would be worth it.

at midnight on friday, i left for wendy's in buendia: a welcome change from the gatherings outside of ayala tower 1 these last few months. we wanted to catch the 4am ferry bound for abra de ilog in batangas pier, and it was a great amount of luck that got us there with only a few minutes to spare. now the batangas pier has a strange policy: they confiscate things like knives and butane canisters. that's pretty understandable: if they're returned when you go back. but that's just it. so if you have an expensive victorinox swiss knife or a nice buck blade, you'd find the ruling absurd, particularly because from the ports of call outside of batangas, not even a cursory inspection is conducted. nonetheless, we managed to sneak in our "illegal" equipment, due in no small part to the early hour.

the ro-ro ferry was a rag-tag hand-me-down from some east-asian country. there were no beds: just non-reclining seats which were thankfully cushioned. nonetheless, we sequestered a bench and tried to get some sleep. in 3 hours' time, we were parking at the port of abra de ilog. paluan was still a good 2 hours away. along the scenic route which consisted mostly of rice fields and hills, we stopped by the town center, which consisted of a market which had 4 stalls, a gas station, and two carinderias which lacked imagination: they both offered the same meals. when we returned the following day for lunch, we wondered whether they had re-heated the remains of the previous day, or their cooks shared the same recipe book.

from the town, we proceeded to ulasan where an elementary school offered primary education to the indigenous mangyans and other settlers in the area. most of us were still getting down from the jeepney's roof when a drum and xylophone squad started playing. the kids had prepared a program. we gathered around them, and immediately after the welcome salute, costumed little warriors went into formation to perform a hunting dance. a deer (at first i thought it was a carabao with weird horns) walked in and it was speared down by the little hunters. finally, they sang a medley of songs. we were told that they'd prepared the performance for candidates of miss earth who were supposed to visit them, but they never got the chance to perform because there wasn't enough time. i felt really important, to be honest.

afterwards, we placed school supplies into little bags and distributed them to the children who obediently fell in line. we also donated books, flashlights, and the surplus of canned goods from our post-ondoy deployment operations. the kids were beaming with smiles, and the school administrators were profuse with thanks. i felt embarrassed actually: i was merely a conduit -- an instrument if you will -- since i had no contribution at all towards the generosity heaped upon this small sitio in the uplands of paluan. i merely helped in bringing the donations of unnamed benefactors to the place. i thought the gratitude was more appropriately given to someone else. i was there for a selfish reason: to climb a new mountain. but the outreach activity does lend the climb with a semblance of relevance: a dimension which shouldn't be an afterthought, or a ruse, or perhaps even token charity, but essentially part of the expedition. we saunter into the backlands of these communities who welcome us with warmth and hospitality, and it becomes our responsibility to assist in any way we can.

immediately after the turnover, the kids changed into their saturday's best and were herded to church. the school is actually part of an adventist mission. in the meantime, we dozed off for another hour, and began the climb at noon. and whose bright idea was it anyway? it felt like the northwestern tip of mindoro was closest to the sun than any other part of the philippines. it was hot and dry. a whisper of wind would blow through the trees every once in a while, but it took many stops and several gulps of water to endure the first 45 minutes of the trail. the forest was dreadfully pale: the leaves were a light shade of green, and the trunks of enormous trees were closer to flesh than brown. even the many millipedes scattered on the ground were a few shades lighter than the ones i'm used to seeing. and the trail was also rather steep.

nevertheless, there was a portion of the trail that we all enjoyed, which for some odd reason, gave me the spooks. it was a sparse forest that was generally flat. the trail was littered with dry, brittle leaves, and the lithe trees were spaced far apart. in the middle was a small clearing with a mud pool. at its edge was a slight ascent, and fields of grass. i was alone as i marched through the trail. or at least i felt alone. i found the lead pack hanging up on a tree which i could not climb. they said they were avoiding limatiks who had made their appearance about half an hour earlier. from the "blairwitch trail", we proceeded to the most scenic stretch of the trail, with sweeping views of the sea, the town below, and the mountains in the distance. we paused frequently to marvel at the view, and the dark plume that stood in the distance. since that morning, the weather had been kind, if not unrelentingly hot. we worried though if it would rain.

there were a total of 2 view decks named after the first two persons who climbed calavite. according to sam, no one had climbed it before. they just saw the mountain on a map. a haphazard trip to paluan was organized during a long weekend, and they promptly encountered delays along the way, but with the help of a nine-year old boy as a guide, they managed to climb all the way to the summit of calavite. to this day, more than 4 AMCI climbs have been organized there, but only sam and hermie had seen the summit. all the subsequent climbs were marred by bad weather. we took a long break at herm's view deck where large raptors, possibly oriental honey-buzzards, kept flying over us.

at sam's view deck, we began to feel the much talked-about wind that frequents the football field-sized campsite of calavite. i was quite literally blown off my step a number of times. during the pre-climb, everyone was instructed to bring along geodesic tents to withstand the lashing winds. but i'm pretty hard-headed. after a few minutes, we came upon a gently sloping field that swooped just below a thick forest crowned by a conical summit and topped by a whirling dark cloud. this is the campsite they were talking about. it is many times the size of a football field, but precisely because of the wind, there are very few places where pitching a tent would be wise. we quickly proceeded to an area just behind a small mound, close to a tree and a bush. around this area, we pitched all our 6 tents. sam and mike planned to sleep outside, but their plans quickly went awry when it started to rain. i was in the midst of cooking rice when i decided that it wasn't wise to soak my sleeping attire, particularly when they are also my going home clothes.

but the rain quickly ended, and we resumed the preparation of dinner. it consisted of my mom's signature dishes: shredded bangus lumpia and sardined bangus. we also had brownies from sammer, and after-dinner delights from mher. while the damp wind blew down at the campsite, we gathered around our kitchen and exchanged stories over alcohol. i know it sounds pretty routine and predictable, but it is the promise of unfettered socials that sometimes lures us to climbing mountains. it may not be the right motivation, and it rarely is for me. but it certainly is a welcome form of relaxation while on the mountain, particularly when you have long hours to talk under less-than-hospitable conditions. nevertheless, the insistent breeze notwithstanding, we managed to draw as much fun from our own follies as we could, and i only turned in when i saw someone holding on to a GSM cuatro cantos. unknown to me, i actually drank some of it.

i woke up the following morning to the sound of wind and a drizzle. somehow, we still managed to prepare breakfast and break camp despite the weather, although we were at least an hour behind. it really was a very quick descent. the views were obliterated now by clouds, so we were hardly stopping. besides, the evening rain left the forest wet and dripping: a perfect environment for limatik attacks. the trail was steep going down, although far from difficult. and despite our speed, some crawlers still found themselves at the edges of my socks.

after a little over two hours, we reached the school again, and we had a perfunctory limatik check, which yielded 3 bites. with most of us having changed to slippers, the bleeding was even more obvious: it was a bloody sunday. then we moved over to the only resort in paluan: the calawagan mountain resort, carved across a river. there was a "natural" pool which diverted some of the river, and we lingered here for a while. it was a nice place, and we wondered how ideal it would have been for a first training climb, with the exception of the limatik: something that could possibly scare most of the uninitiated.

from here, we had lunch at the same place again, and the menu had not changed. we were delayed by a few minutes waiting for halo-halo to be served, and this proved to be crucial: we were not allowed to board the 3pm ferry back to batangas, although all of our watches showed we still had at least 2 minutes to spare. it really was just a guard throwing his weight around. since we couldn't force ourselves in, we just decided to drown in red horse, and make ourselves hoarse from singing videoke. after two hours, we walked to our ferry, ordered some beer, and had our post-climb on a moving vessel. we reached batangas after less than 3 hours and stuffed our smelly bags into a van which brought us to manila.

to say that calavite is a new mountain seems to suggest that it wasn't there before. in a way, it was a personal discovery, because although i had heard about it, i hadn't been there prior to this last climb. it exists regardless of my ignorance. but i call it that for purposes of convenience. a new mountain in a country of islands is really cause for celebration. while i do not mind repeating the same old trails, it would be nice to experience something not part of the usual. the list of mountains to see here seems pretty limited, but it is the company and the purpose which made this specific expedition unique. i'm not certain whether i will get to climb another mountain before the year ends. but it is comforting to know that i get to climb a new mountain every now and then.

from zero to hero: 2009 eXTri off-road triathlon

2009-12-07T05:28:00Z

it was evidently the result of some drunken challenge. the lights were down low at tiananmen in makati avenue early last november, and we were surrounded by pillows and buckets of beer when janice asked me to fork over 2,000 pesos to be registered for the extri, an off-road triathlon held annually at la luz resort in laiya, san juan, batangas. i gave the money ungrudgingly, but only the following day with the benefit of sobriety that i realized the great danger i exposed myself to following that brazen decision. 1-kilometer ocean swim. 23-kilometer bike ride. 4-kilometer run. the order was tall, particularly for me, a self-confessed aquaphobe. i was afraid of the swim leg because i am not a swimmer. when i was younger, i had more than two near-drowning experiences, and it was only early this year that i actually managed to swim 50 meters. in between that night at tiananmen and last saturday, i invested time inside the pool not so much to train, but to build confidence. the swim was divided into 3 loops, and i just wanted to make sure that i could actually do 1 loop without stopping. i achieved that exactly a week before the race. but there is an ocean of a difference between an olympic-sized pool, the relative safety of its depth and length, and the wide open sea. upon our arrival at la luz at noon on saturday, i distracted my fear by being busy.

before i was marked, i was already offered an ungraceful exit at the beginning when i said it was my first time to race where water was involved. i would have grabbed it, but i would have disappointed a lot of people who have provided me with encouragement and positive cheer. so i gulped down my concerns and proceeded to park my bike at the transition area, readied my racing paraphernalia, and sat for the race briefing: the tensest 20 minutes of my recent life, until we finally suited up for the swim. i was only briefly relieved when a stranger told me that he sometimes lurks at my blog. during the last minute before the gun went off, i was consumed in silent prayer. i asked the Lord not so much for speed nor strength, but for courage and confidence. i knew that if i had allowed my fear to get ahead of me, i would have been consumed by it, and a string of problems would present itself. at any rate, i was comforted by the fact that i could always hang on to the buoys. the swim course was a crude isosceles that stretched out 35 meters into the sea, 150 meters parallel to the shore, then a 150 diagonal course back to the starting line. rather unluckily, i only breathe on the right side when my left hand is stretched out. the water was particularly choppy during the race, and water kept splashing onto my face. many times, a small wave would crash into me when i peeked to gulp some air, and i had to pause if only to cough out the sea. very early into the race, it felt like a school of rowdy jacks: there wasn't enough room in this vast ocean, and all i could see were hands and legs and bubbles. i also felt a slight pull every now and then.

at the end of my first loop, i had a big smile on my face, but what i really wanted to do was walk out of the sand and go straight to the room and sleep. i just could not do that another two times. but jason barked at me: go swim! so i donned my goggles another time, and went back into the water. what was i thinking? i kept asking myself, until i was finally submerged and got briefly lost. i wasted a few strokes veering away from the course. i went back close to the buoys and it was essentially a repetition of the first loop: stroke, kick, breathe, drink, stop, cough. midway, the sole of my right foot was beginning to cramp and i had to kick with only one leg. i was hardly moving. i caught sight of the race official on the kayak, and i think he was really concerned about me, because i held on to the buoys like my life depended on them. and for brief moments during the race, it did. when i finished my second loop, so many of the other racers had already gone to the transition area. that didn't scare me one bit and i lingered to drink some water, rinse my goggles and talk to the officials. and then my last loop. there were only four of us left on the water: myself, former bb. pilipinas-universe gem padilla, rendo, and another guy. i was smimming alongside gem for most of the last loop, which probably was better than my second, and rendo was only a body length behind. we all rose at the same time, but i stepped on the mat less than a second behind both of them because i was poking fun at myself. i was saying that there's going to be unusually low tide in the coming days because i drank half of the ocean. someone asked me how it tasted, and i replied, salty, perfect for avoiding muscle cramps.

i took more than 3 minutes at the transition area lacing on my shoes. when i saddled my bike, i immediately felt a side stitch developing. i couldn't cycle as fast as i wanted to because each time i exerted any effort, it felt like something was going to burst inside. i was only gingerly cycling along the road, waving and smiling at people, saluting race officials and locals. i was still on the road when the first four finishers were on their way back. when i took the detour into the trail, i finally found my element, and i cycled faster. i may have slowed down by the fact that i was generous with my high five's: i did not decline those hands lining up along the side of the road, wanting to slap palms with me. i felt like a celebrity, and i enjoyed it just as much as they did, i would suppose, because the kids screamed with delight when our hands touched. the trail wasn't as difficult as the trails that i've done with AMCItoda, but i'm not an extremely strong biker anyway, so i took my time. i only managed to overtake 2 racers on this portion of the race. it was a lonely ride back to the transition area for me: i could see no one else ahead or behind me.

then i started my run to the wild cheer of spectators. i'm pretty sure they were paid or pleaded to do that. there was nothing spectacular about my pace, but i accepted their approval willingly. i needed it for the next challenge. the run course is absolutely wild: it begins with the cardiac steps, then up, up, up the hill. i walked the entire time, with even no attempt to gain speed. only when the trail flattened did i increase my cadence. when i saw another racer ahead of me, i was suddenly possessed with glee. i wasn't in it to win, but it sure would boost my ego to go up a few more notches in the rankings! i quickened my steps, and found another runner walking the downhill portions. i told him he could run downward in a zigzag pattern to reduce the stress on the knees. he thanked me from a few paces behind. i was given a yellow scoongee at the last checkpoint and told to head to the shore. that was the most frustrating part of the run course. i wanted to run, but couldn't, because my feet kept sinking into the sand. it didn't help that i had no view of the finish line. there was a huge chunk of rock that abutted the sea, and it was only after that turn that i saw the small arc, and the few people waiting for the last few finishers. a pair of muscle cramps were already eating at my hamstrings and i was tempted to walk the last 200 meters. instead, i opted for drama and comedy. i ran in slow motion, and did a cartwheel at the finish line. "and there goes racer number 25, alman quiboquibo!" someone announced, and i knelt immediately after crossing the finish line. someone draped a towel over me, and i became briefly delirious.

i was trying to make sense of the difficulties that i had willingly submitted myself to. i was happy. not so much that i finished ahead of a few people, but more so because my debut into the sport of triathlon ended well, and did not find me on a stretcher or in an ambulance or at the hospital, or someplace worse. i had two personal goals for the race: to be alive, and not be last. my efforts may not have been as sterling as i would have wanted, but i achieved my humble goals by not going down in flames. the length of the race may be a pittance for a lot of people i know: a bump on the road, but it was already a mountain for me. that is why i feel accomplished: i resisted the urge to quit so early into the race, and actually finished the course in a small blaze of glory. now i understand why many of my friends are so addicted to this sport: you know you could do a lot better with proper training and more expensive equipment. i don't know quite yet if i'm just as sold, whether this small step will evolve into bigger strides towards competing in dead serious triathlon events. since last year, i've constantly been encouraged to take up the sport of triathlon, which i shrugged by saying that i can't swim. but recently, i proclaimed that my decision will depend on the outcome of the extri race. i must confess i haven't quite reached a conclusion. right now, i'm just happy to be alive.

here are the unofficial results. i finished in 2:25:44.9. 37th overall in a field of 48 racers. i beat only 1 person in the swim leg, was faster than 9 others in the bike portion, and outran 18 racers.

something work-related

2009-12-01T07:49:19Z

effective today, i no longer work for the delegation of the european commission to the philippines.

this is not a result of a resignation. it is because the european commission no longer exists.

but i still have a job. not anywhere else, but in the same room, floor, and building where i've worked in the last 29 months.

confusing?

not really. effective the end of november 2009, the european commission has been zapped from the political consciousness of the known universe. it wasn't actually abolished or replaced, only that the institutions of the peoples of europe have been streamlined. the EC has been officially subsumed by the european union, following the coming into force of the lisbon treaty. i now work for the delegation of the european union to the philippines.

the consequences? other than changing our letterheads, email signatures, ID cards, business cards, the sign at the lobby, and other similar things, nothing much, really, in so far as my position is concerned. at least, it appears to be that way, for now. should i maybe start by reading the treaty?

personal bests

2009-11-26T10:20:07Z

last night, i made a personal swim record of 500 meters in 11 mins and 44.2 secs. it is a personal best because i have never gone that distance without stopping every 50m. when i started my swimming lessons early this year, it was a struggle. i wanted to quit very early in the program because i couldn't even finish a lap on an olympic-sized pool without feeling utterly tired and spent. it didn't help of course that my classmates were already doing a kilometer on the first session; of course, they already had an advantage over me: they have no fear of the water, and they'd already been swimming long before they heard about triathlons. their interest was improving technique, gaining speed, and developing endurance. i had to start from practically zero. i am convinced i'm a sinker, i have an inexplicable fear of deep water, and i nearly drowned, more than once.

but what i do have that more than makes up for my absolute lack of athleticism are persistence and pride: a combination which propels me to achieve feats normally not within my grasp. i put in a lot of secret hours swimming on my own, until i built enough confidence to do a full 50 meter lap, then 2 successive laps, then 4, and now, 10. i don't care if people who are good swimmers laugh at my exploits. personally, i already consider what i have accomplished as a big achievement, more importantly because i have conquered a fear. and that in itself is something to be proud of.

and due perhaps to my rapid weight loss, which can be attributed to failing health more than anything else, i've managed to improve on my speed. last tuesday, my iPod nano's nike+ reported that i ran 5.44km in 29 mins and 39 secs: that's a pace of 5:15 min/km. now the nike+ has never been known for pin-sharp accuracy (and i won't even compare the treadmill's readings either), but i'll take it. i've never ran that fast in the last 3 years. since 2005, my speed and endurance in middle-distance runs have consistently decreased and i am eager to regain my form on the pavement. i am not proud of the fact that i have not joined a 10km road race since november last year (well, i did take part in the TNF 100 -- a trail run -- and my time there was pathetic), followed by my 21k in the singapore marathon.

so who knows? maybe, in the coming weeks, i'll be chalking up a few more personal records. i'll make sure to write about my triumphs... and it isn't unknown that i admit even my own failures.

fiesta fever

2009-11-20T06:26:02Z

it could be the colors and the costumes. it might be the thumping sound of drums. or it may even be the careless dancing and the wild abandon on car-less streets, the organized chaos. i can think of many different reasons why i'm drawn to festivals: they are a photographer's buffet and an explosion of folk culture, history, christianity, and paganism. i first got a taste of the different flavors of philippine festivals when they first held the aliwan fiesta early this decade: it was a visual smorgasbord. i still had a film camera at the time and managed to expose only 2 rolls over 2 days. but there were few photographers and the performers didn't tire posing for any of us. now, the aliwan is a photographer's playground, and they number nearly as much as the performers.

nonetheless, the distraction of other shooters notwithstanding, my attraction to festivals hasn't waned by any appreciable degree. in mid-october, i saw myself speeding towards bacolod city for my second masskara festival. i was there in 2007, but for some odd reason, i didn't get to shoot to my heart's delight. this time around, although it wasn't part of the plan, joy and i jumped right into the streets of bacolod and soaked in the suffocating masks of the festival. the canned music was a droning repetition of localized nursery rhymes unlike the unique cacophony of the sinulog, and the movements are a little constrained compared to dinagyang. but wonders can be made with masks, and the colors can rival even the panagbenga. i'm just a little unsure if the performers truly "feel" the fever of fiesta: the masks are locked in some kind of silly laugh, and i wouldn't be surprised if any of them pass out from having to wear so much weight on their heads. the constriction of it all must affect their energy -- in fact, nearly all of bacolod appears to be sapped during the masskara. don't get me wrong: it was fun. a stretch of lacson is closed off, and free music is provided by bands and speakers spaced 100 meters apart. but people were just walking. and sitting, nursing bottles of beer. no one was dancing. like really dancing. lately i discovered this song which implores: when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, i hope you dance. i did, but the bacolodnons sat it out.

so i've been to a few festivals. the aliwan has actually given me an idea about what i might expect in other far-flung places. for next year, i'm keen on seeing the pintados and the buyog-buyogan festivals in leyte. i also haven't seen the pahiyas and the moriones. i already have a ticket for the ati-atihan, but i'm ditching that in favor of a good friend's wedding. i wonder whether some other fiesta might be worth the visit. i'm rather open to suggestions.

here are some of the fiestas i've taken part in:

red plumes at dinagyang

does the hot air balloon fiesta count?

at the masskara festival

offering a prayer at the chao phraya in bangkok for loy krathong

sinulog in cebu is in itself a destination

all fiestas converge at aliwan

songkran up in chiang mai is fun (especially if you have a waterproof camera)

another random post

2009-11-18T09:07:16Z

i think i need new sheets. seriously. although i'm pretty comfortable sleeping on sheets that don't reflect my age (winnie the pooh) and i don't get many guests anyway who can criticize my poor taste in sheets or my general lack of interest in interior design, i really think i should retire winnie and the old sheet my mom lent me in favor of something with a higher thread count, and maybe a more solid, bold color. when i first moved out of my parents' house and decided to live close to where i work, i had grand ideas of remodeling and coordinating my space. i wanted to exude something earthy and close to nature. i wanted plain white plates with a minimal leaf design, a green curtain to reflect my love for the environment, a brown mattress set to show my connection with the earth... but i pursued none of those and decided to have function over form. but now my unit is a mess, and dishes from 3 days ago still sit on the sink. i haven't polished my floor since i can't remember, and i've never had more than 3 hours of television in the last 27 months. i've read many books (currently reading ian mcewan's "a child in time" and an essay collection by pico iyer), solved many puzzles, and compiled many magazines as a consequence. i renewed my lease contract just last month, so i can look forward to 10 more months in my makati foxhole. i really must do something to better the space i live in. it's close to being a sty. haha.

two weeks ago, after we had successfully climbed apo to induct close to 40 new members to the club, we dropped by camp sabros in bgy. kapatagan, digos city, not far away from the resort where we spent the night. sabros has a few exciting rides: zip lines with lengths of 380 meters, 400 meters, and 800 meters. the last one was, until recently, the longest zip line in the philippines, and even all of asia, until CDO extended it by 200 meters and stole the title. to get to the camp, we had to walk a kilometer uphill from the street, along an unpaved, winding road. i've done zip lines before, but nothing as long and as picturesque as the ones in sabros (clear skies allowed us an unimpeded view of mounts apo and talomo). the facility was built around a small patch of pine forest, so we zipped through small openings between trees. the 800-meter zip line takes 44 seconds, and has a rather rude ending (check out the video), but it's a lot of fun because you get the feeling of flying: you're strapped on a jacket that makes you lie flat in mid-air: it's really the closest you'll get to defying gravity. it actually wasn't terrifying, but ann nearly broke her vocal chords from too much screaming.

anyway, this i did despite the infection in my gums that was causing my left jaw to swell. 3 hours later, immediately upon our arrival in davao city, i went straight to the dentist who prescribed some medicines and drained the infection. i felt better almost instantly, and that night, managed to chew on something at luz kinilaw. the following day, i just dropped by aldevinco and then had to pack up for my flight. we were holed at the davao medical school foundation, which had 3 indian restaurants. the owner (who is indian) informed me that there are currently more indian students in the school's nursing program than filipinos. now that's something!

right now i'm still on medication, but hopefully i'll be weaned from it with my scheduled visit to the dentist. i shudder at the thought of some invasive procedure to be done. i really hope it's nothing that would require more visits. sigh.

i'm rather excited about this weekend. i'm still a bit torn about what to do, but if i decide finally to go to the mountains, then i'll actually get to see a new mountain. that's a cool treat.

some random ramblings

2009-11-14T16:48:17Z

i had a rather fruitful day today despite having risen from bed in time for lunch. i brought home the tuna i bought in davao last week and my mom made her classic kinilaw. i have actually pretty low standards when it comes to eating raw fish because i would eat them wherever they're served, but my mom's recipe is pretty good. too bad my dental issues have gotten in the way of completely enjoying the meal. after lunch i sat down with my mom to watch a bit of "eat bulaga" and she told me about the results of the "survivor philippines: palau". i would have stayed behind to watch more television, but i had to go back to makati to drop by the dentist.

anyway, that fizzled and i had myself squeezed in for next week, so i ended up buying a new pair of swimming trunks from speedo, because my current one has a small hole on the left butt cheek. i put in 600 meters at MASA today, and it was quite an achievement already because i only paused every 200 meters. for someone who at the start of this year couldn't even complete one lap of an olympic sized pool, that's a big leap forward. although, i don't expect anyone to congratulate me. not yet. hopefully, by next week, i can manage to do 500 meters, non-stop. the other day, i swam at the fitness first pool in RCBC, and did maybe 20 laps, which is 400 meters. i can't remember the last time i swam. coach july was even surprised to see me. i really need to put more time into my swim training if i intend to make a mild splash in the extri, for which i'm registered (yet another result of some drunken challenge).

this week has been rather fruitful actually, in stark contrast to last week, immediately after the climb, when i just went straight home and plopped down on the bed. i returned to the gym again, like i just said, because i'm tired of spending over P3,000 for 2 visits. in fact, i think there was one month when i didn't see the gym at all: not wise spending, and not good for my general health and appearance. although, i've got to say, i've been dropping pounds like a japanese warplane over pearl harbor. i'm pretty sure that prior to leaving for mount apo, i was around 160lbs. last monday, i weighed with clothes on and i was 153lbs. last thursday, i went back to the same scale, and i had to ask the attendant if it was working, because i'm now down to 150lbs (with only my underwear). and people have been noticing: everyone keeps saying, alman ampayat mo na. i have no explanation for it: yes, there was one whole day when i had nothing but soup, and maybe another day when i had little appetite, but i quickly resumed my eating habits, and i haven't skipped any meals since i got better last saturday, so it's strange. i mean, i'm sure other people might welcome that, but i can't help but be a bit concerned. rapid weight loss isn't healthy.

and this week, i found time to see two movies: "law abiding citizen" which i enjoyed and which enthralled me, and just now "2012", which entertained a lot. i particularly liked the post-colonial underpinnings of the ending (the west headed for africa). i was going to link the disaster movie where the scale of destruction is unprecedented to climate change, but apparently, nothing is preached about how we are killing the earth. so i'll save my speech about the environment for some other time.

so now it's a little past midnight and i've set my alarm to go off at 4am. there's the timex run later, and although i'm actually not registered, i intend to run (a portion of) the 10km route. the last road race i joined was the adidas king of the road. and i vlogged my experience in the 5km category, which, despite its distance, turned out to be a leisurely walk for countless people who were more into it for the fad, than for fitness. it was not just recently that i noted running to be "cool", and road races, particularly the famous ones like the KOTR, are turning into social events, not unlike a rock concert, with running venues as places to see and be seen, like a really hip bar. what miffs me though is finding so many declarations (not the least on facebook) from people who are only recently into running that they'd just finished their first marathon. people: 5K, 10K, or even 21K distances are not considered marathons! you'd have to run 42.195K for that. i have never made such a claim myself, and we all know how disastrous my 21K turned out to be.

so anyway, we'll all know later if i actually manage to peel myself out of bed to join the timex run.

going to the dogs? not if i can help it

2009-11-09T09:47:25Z

i don't know about the rest of you, but i could not watch through more than 2 minutes of manny pacquiao's interview with jimmy kimmel. i was not sure whether it was more than a tinge of national embarrassment or too much rollicking comedy that i just had to cut the video short and find something else to see. there's a lot of awkward humor poking at my insides, much like the result when i watched this filipino kid sing his version of the black eyed peas' "boom boom pow". enduring 4 minutes of that is agonizing. but in the 2 minutes that i did manage to see, i noticed that jimmy kimmel referred to manny pacquiao as a (not the) future president of the philippines. i think another american talk show host made the same bold prediction: whether this is part of their machine gun humor, or an honest perception of philippine politics, it still comes across an an insult, at least to me. it does not help either that manny is also on the cover of time magazine, only the second filipino to be given such an honor after corazon aquino. whether that solidifies manny's political future, i would be the first to deny it. we're talking about my country. our country. it's best not joked about, even though when you look at the state of things, the joke's really on us.

how can you take the electoral process seriously, when the players obviously feed on this mass desire for personality over platform? take, for example, noynoy's recent political ad, which joins heavyweight celebrities from competing networks to help the senator carry around lit torches: had the expression on their faces been grim, i would have assumed they were about to go for a witch hunt. it does not help at all that regine is singing this badly-worded song in front of a bonfire in a forest with moonlight seeping through the mist. it had the makings of an 80s filipino horror movie. noynoy does not say anything, or suggest anything. he just stands proudly in the company of his sister's friends in the industry. i would go on rambling about it but patricia evangelista wrote a very good opinion column about it in the inquirer. i've never necessarily liked patricia before, maybe because i didn't really read her. but this piece is brilliant.

i normally shun politics on the blog, because i feel that it is better left to the exclusive domain of pundits who have actually spent a lot of time thinking about the filipino condition, privy to the machinations behind all these defections and declarations. but it cannot be helped that i am myself a political animal, much as i would like to deny it, and i eschew apathy. i believe in certain things, and some of them include: people who do not vote have no right to complain about how the nation is run. people who do not pay the right amount of taxes have no right to demand better roads or improved delivery of basic necessities. people who have not been in government have no right to declare that every single person in government is either inept or corrupt or both. people who have not volunteered to safeguard the ballot have no right to ridicule the entire process as a complete and absolute sham. and finally, i do not understand why so many people are complaining about the long lines outside of the comelec's election registration centers less than a week prior to the deadline. i have not missed an election since i reached the age of majority, so i didn't have to endure the drama and the frustration of being a new registrant this year.

that said, i still haven't decided on a candidate. i would much rather prefer to wait for the campaign period and devote some time to study their plans for the country. your country. our country.

strangers to misery: AMCI 2k9 mount apo induction climb

2009-11-08T12:09:48Z

at least 2 days prior to my early friday morning flight to davao, i had already packed my osprey argon 70, and on an anxiety-filled thursday evening that left me tossing in bed, sleepless, i decided to consider the weight of my pack. i attempted to lift it with both hands, and marveled at my own difficulty. i'm normally used to carrying insanely heavy loads, not wanting to trade the little outdoor luxuries for less weight. but i was not planning to embark on an overnighter, no. i was joining AMCI batch 2k9's induction climb in mount apo: four days of toil through familiar terrain. i had been there before, on my own induction climb in 2005, and on a batch-organized climb, so i am aware of the challenges. since i couldn't sleep anyway, i decided to reconsider my load and unpacked. i debated with myself whether everything was necessary, and in the end, i managed to take out an extra pair of socks, 2 packs of milk tea, another 2 packs of swiss miss hot chocolate powder, and half a liter of tequila. i managed to lighten my load by less than a kilo. at the airport, i plunged my backpack on an empty counter and the red digits informed me of the my future burden: 19.8kg. without water. i wondered whether heaving a pack consisting of at least 2 liters of expensive vodka would excuse me from contributing to the water load, and whether along the trail, i could just beg for hydration. i was worried.

but worrying about the weight of my pack was the least of my issues at the airport when charles, one-fourteenth of my team, was yet to arrive as cebu pacific announced the closing of its gates, 45 minutes prior to departure time. i fabricated excuses and assured the very helpful 5J crew that he was nearly there. and just a heartbeat away from being offloaded, charles appeared, balancing stacks of books on both hands. "eds and her stupid books!" he remarked as he made a dash for the check-in counter. from the final check-in, we walked straight into the plane where a little commotion was caused by a family who had mistaken it for the flight to tacloban city.

it was a smooth flight that left me merely feigning sleep. before 6am, we were already at the davao airport, where the flights from Z2, 5J, and PR arrived within ten minutes of each other. it was 2 hours yet till assembly time, and i found our van to try to sneak in some sleep. i had officially been awake since 7am of thursday, and still had at least 6 hours of trekking time ahead of me. it is never wise to plunge headlong into an adventure of this magnitude without rest. but it was futile. i needed to draw on my depleted reserves if i wanted to last the whole day. at 8am, the rest of my team appeared, already decked in their multi-colored batang batibot uniforms. my anxiety ebbed, and my imagined stress deflated. i looked forward to 4 days on the slopes of mount apo with my group.

not too long ago, i was invited by enrico to advise his IC group. i have had some of them in my group in previous BMC climbs: enrico from TC1, abs from TC 2, eds from TC3, and nelle from TCs 1 and 4. i had no knowledge of the trekking style of the rest of the group (carlo, ann, emma, and charles), but i could tell that we were all at best, an average group of climbers: not the strongest, but none of them would certainly count as among the slowest. i would not have it any other way. after having been inducted into the club, i have advised 3 IC groups, and played the role of GL/AGL countless times for both TCs under the BMC, as well as independently-organized hikes. i know very well that it matters little that you have the strongest climber in you, because you are only as strong as your weakest member. for this IC, i was joined by edwin, joanne, aris, alen, and diana. it would have been a much larger group, but i wanted to keep the number to something more manageable.

on the way to kapatagan, we passed kiagot, and the name rung a bell. as it turns out, this is my father's hometown, and i have been there at least once, nearly 30 years before. a while later, our van dropped us off in a nameless roadside in baroring where the savers, wearing our dark blue BMC shirts from 2005, were already waiting. after my prayer, the climb promptly began through carrot plantations. less than 20 minutes later, we reached sitio colan to deposit our donations (this was already close to lunch time of our day 2 in our 2k5 IC), and we approached the savers campsite through the shorter route, avoiding hot springs, but passing through a trail blooming with color. the savers campsite itself had been swallowed by nature's growth.

finally, we entered the forest line where we spent most of our trekking time, until evening fell. i was at the tail end of the group, and in the pale light of our headlamps, the trail to tinikaran was a sombre, featureless trek in the woods. i have little recollection of this path since we walked through it under cover of darkness. finally, a little after 6pm, the din of human activity was heard, and we found our camp. enrico announced that he had reserved us a spot. it wasn't the most ideal, but given the refugee-like conditions of the other areas, it was fine. we pitched our tents, prepared dinner, ate, and forgot to uncork our bottles. everyone was just a bit too tired, despite the batang batibot's moniker as maliksi at masigla, that my team decided to hit the sack early, so i ended up with the climb staff, with their jigger cum electronic dice, that had me drinking one too many shots, either through sheer luck or misfortune.

the following morning we rose early for breakfast, and once again, i led the prayer prior to the trek. per my recollection, the trail to the boulders was not very long, although we were beset by slow-moving traffic along the narrow and steep parts of the trail. it wasn't long until we found the dry gully that drained sand from the boulders, and then the forest opened to reveal mount apo's smoking cheek. in the distance, it appears as a cleft of monotonous gray, but upon closer inspection, there is a variety of colors surrounding the monochromatic chunks of rock: phlegmatic green, pale yellow, sometimes, even rust.

we were still more than an hour ahead of the itinerary so my group went to the sulfur vents, the source of all that smell, for a photo. the vents are actually not very obvious. there are no gaping holes on the surface of mount apo, with boiling lava, or anything of the sort you might find in natgeo. rather, the smoke just blows out of crevices on the yellow walls. there is in fact a hissing sound as the smoke, and smell, escape. mount apo is still very much active, and even in its slumber, reminds all of us of its might and the trembling giant that lies underneath it.

the ascent through the boulders took over 4 hours, and its gray, rocky surface can get tediously monotonous at times: it is just rock after rock after boulder after boulder. the colors range from white to a shade above black, with hints of yellow, green and rust. the vents were hyperactive, spewing a sickening smoke that makes one choose to either suffocate by breathing it, or asphyxiate one's self by constricting breathing itself. nonetheless, in its lack of features lay its charms: it was otherworldly. volcanoes tend to different from most mountains: pinatubo and bulusan always tend to give this feeling that you are somewhere else, where magic and fantasy thrive, or where humans are not alone. i have been to the boulders before, but it was as if i have never seen it. i have no recollection of any specific boulder, as each one resembles the other. the textures range from smooth to rough to jagged to razor-sharp, and the shapes transition from round to many-sided polygons. despite its apparent featurelessness, i took more pictures along the boulders than anywhere else on mount apo. the contrast of our bright, perky uniforms against its deathly monochrome was fantastic.

throughout the 4-hour trek, a fog was also almost always present. it blurred the views ahead and behind us, but allowed us small peeks so that we would not grow tired, too quickly. somewhere along the trail, we were hit by hunger. i called for lunch, and it got cold rather quickly. we munched on our lunches, even as others snacked on berries harvested along the trail. that these small bushes can grow in such adverse conditions and still manage to bear fruit is a testament to apo's nurturing nature.

finally, we walked into a wide expanse. the cracked cliffs on both sides were daunting. it was as if an entire mountain would fall upon us. rather quickly, we began a steep ascent on what they'd called the 87-degree wall. although it was steep, it seemed to me that it was a pretty random number, and there was nothing there that would tend to prove pythagoras. this was a different trail from 2k5. we crawled up the trail, and very shortly after found the crater. it was vandalized by rocks that formed names of strangers: how very pre-historic. the urge to leave behind a trace is a feature that can be traced to cavemen. from the crater, we knew that the campsite was less than 30 minutes away. so instead of speeding towards the summit campsite, we decided to assault peak 1 (where we desperately anticipated a clearing back in 2007) for a long photo shoot. we were in no hurry. this was not a contest, after all, and we had no desire to prove anything, least of all our speed. we just stayed there, channeling our inner models, flashing our smiles, denying the fact that we had just hurdled something close to herculean. this was, after all, the highest peak in the philippines. we raise our hands and we touch the roof of the archipelago.

on our way to the campsite, we talked about how the group was just too happy. maybe it would be good to have some issues, a bit of drama, so we devised a script, improvised a fight. it worked for a while, but we couldn't sustain it: we actually had people believe we were involved in a tussle. but the real drama began when i realized that our designated campsite was along a wind tunnel. i investigated to see if there was no more room elsewhere, and was surprised to find that many prized spots were still available in the cozier part of the campsite. i began to ask just how random the camp assignments were, and whether some favoritism was employed. this less-than-innocuous question eventually led to our transfer beside the climb staff. it felt good to be wedged between a rock and a hard place. i felt less afraid of the evening cold.

pretty soon, we were taking care of dinner while some sun still showed. i spoke to the groups from bukidnon and marveled at how the nearly-full moon rose over the campsite. the evening itself wasn't too cold. a lot of people still managed to crawl out of their tents for a few shots. underneath a tarp, we created the truth circle. somewhere else, they were singing OPM. the impact-Os moved around with their costumes and wigs. mount apo was just too kind. the weather had been friendly since the beginning, and that evening, though nippy, wasn't deathly freezing. although when i turned in to sleep, after bringing home 2 very inebriated ladies, i regretted having to leave out the extra pair of socks. my feet were cold.

then, early in the morning, we had to rise for the induction rites at one of the peaks. i put on my shirt and knotted my tie, gave final instructions to my group and proceeded to trek in the light of dawn. the AMCI induction rites are sacred and secret. i have witnessed five of these, including mine, and despite the solemnity we associate with them, there is always something that makes us laugh or cry afterwards. the rites were also threatened by outsiders who invaded our ceremony while it was taking place. but what could we do? we do not own the mountain, and we can only plead for their kind understanding: the entire program didn't last 30 minutes, and at the end, we had welcomed 39 new members into the club. i hugged everyone who had been part of my group, and even those who have grown close to me. it was a happy, emotional moment. and for the next hour, we had the customary photo shoots at the peak. the sun was high above us, and the weather permitted an extended stay: much unlike my own IC when we were rushed to descend.

we returned to the campsite, prepared breakfast (a nearly-botched champorado which i will not recommend), and broke camp quickly. all the groups departed one after the other, and there was a long queue all the way to the 87-degree wall. we were sandwiched in the middle, but by the time we had reached another part of the boulders, we were right behind the lead pack. at one point sir manny told me to stay behind and not to stay too close to the lead pack and subject them to any added pressure. i obeyed, of course, and sat it out, despite my misgivings about the choice of route. it could have been easier: the strides could have been shorter, and there would not have been any need to hop. frequently, i made my own trail, as jumping from one boulder to the next wasn't my specialty, not with a huge pack behind me.

eventually, we found the friendlier trail which we ascended the previous day. other groups were already making their way down. our SAVERS guide remarked about how our packs tended to be generally bigger, and that our ladies shared in the load. when i discussed our training, he was close to disbelieving. but it's true: not that AMCI (or some manila-based mountaineering groups for that matter) tend to be less gentlemanly, but that we do not pamper our women: they carry a portion of the load, which is distributed equitably rather than equally.

after finishing lunch along the trail, we picked up our packs and continued with the trek. enrico insisted on staying behind, since we were more than 2 hours ahead of the IT. he preferred to be with the "view pack" rather than the lead pack. but less than 20 minutes later, i found the lead pack resting at tinikaran 2. we discussed the plan, and manny T said that at our pace, it would be possible to trek all the way to tumbis where there would be water, hot springs, and a store. the decision would be made at tinikaran 1, depending on the time of everyone's arrival. so i waited for my group, discussed the options, and we continued with the trek at a less leisurely pace. i arrived at the campsite with aris just a little past 2pm. the group that had gone ahead of us asked for help when one of their companions had trouble walking: he absolutely could not move his legs but could not feel any pain at all since he had overdosed on painkillers, so they were devising a hammock. it was a long way yet to colan. my entire group was there by 2:30pm, and we were eager to keep walking, and by 3pm, we were still awaiting a decision to be made. i regaled them with my anecdotes of previous climbs, until i eventually had run out of stories. at 4pm, with still a huge chunk of the team far behind, manny T called out: camp!

by this time, i was developing a headache as well as a fever. one of my molars was also strangely sensitive to the bite, and i had difficulty chewing anything. despite that, we still managed to have a sumptuous dinner, and finished off the remaining liter of vodka that i carried up and down apo. at around 8pm, there was hint of a drizzle, so we quickly packed up and retired into our tents, although i continued the conversation with charles and enrico while inside. enrico kept saying how this was the perfect group, the best group, how the team composition was ideal, and all that, and without saying goodnight, we fell asleep. at a bit past 9pm, the coke we ordered arrived, and kuya mar's team was alive with beer. they tried to call us out, but i begged off because of the headache. and it was either the racket they were making, or the headache i was feeling, or both, that kept me mostly awake till 5am the following day. i had such an uncomfortable time, rolling around on my thermarest, worrying about my condition, trying to knock of the pain with ineffective medication.

by breakfast, i was visibly not myself, and people noticed: i was brooding, quiet, lost in the distance, out of focus. i tried not to infect anyone with my situation but it was inevitable: the silence was deafening. charles already volunteered to carry my tent poles and that was a welcome offer. still, we managed to prepare breakfast of which i had only a bite. i didn't even bother to get lunch. we were the second group to depart tinikaran, behind the impact-Os. and it was only on the return that i managed to appreciate the kind of trail we trekked: it was actually steep and very slippery in parts. under such conditions, you just walk on, look back a little to see if the team is close to you, and continue walking, following the beat-up trail with its yellow strings, failing to appreciate birdsong or the mating calls of insects or the variety of trees that fill your vision. behind me, the group was having fun counting the falls and slips they collected, and apo was a runaway winner (i would have been the biggest loser since my butt was clean as a whistle). rather quickly, we found the savers campsite again. less than half of the team was still not present, and i decided to be left behind to see what i could do. eds's knees had apparently lost a lot of their control, and they folded on their own. she was slowing down on the descent. so i took off, and in an instant, i was behind my group who had ordered coke at tumbis. we should have been there the day prior if all the other groups made it to tinikaran before 4pm.

but instead there we were, deciding how to be able to help eds. the road was about 30 minutes away from here, so we continued, again past plantations of carrots, along a muddy horse trail, and onto the road which in 2005, was in such bad condition, the mud was nearly knee-deep in parts, and yet we dutifully trekked it at nighttime until we reached marawer. this time, there were no such hiccups: a vegetable truck was waiting for us, and took us to the resort still in kapatagan, about 20 minutes away. and then it began to drizzle: the only significant weather anomaly that took place the entire climb. getting off at the resort, we had a late lunch (i only had soup, about 3 bowls), there was a choice between sleeping and getting cleaned up. given the long queues, i chose the former, until finally it was late in the afternoon, and the entire team had arrived. i quickly took a bath despite my fever, and sat down with the rest of the batang batibot, pooled together our emergency food which we converted into a gourmet dinner, and happily recalled the last 4 days in the company of rum coke.

we also planned the socials presentation, which true to the group's name, was still batibot-themed (add a splash of black eyed peas and sinulog as well). it was a lot of fun just to sit there, exchanging stories, laughing at things and occurrences which anyone not privy to the climb or the group would not find funny. in the end, every single one in the group was a revelation, putting a piece of themselves for everyone's consumption. if the lack of misery in the climb did not help to draw us closer together, it was the steady company of each other's presence and small contributions to the success of the group, individually, and the entire team, collectively. i like this group not because there weren't any boiling issues during the climb, or that everyone pitched in without having to be told, or that we worked well as a team. it was because even if any problems ensued, it would not have anchored us down.

a lot of people might compare this climb to others. only very few batches have been inducted on the summit of mount apo, and i am among the few who can actually compare two ICs. but just because i can, does not mean i will. the conditions then and now are wildly different; the amount of realism breathed into the IT of my IC was askance. this year's president had a few simple goals: no night-trekking, no injuries, beat the IT. yes, there may have been features of apo that we were unable to see: waterfalls, hot springs, lake venado. but what is the purpose? to see everything that can possible be seen? then we would need more than 4 days. the underlying reason behind our climb was to welcome new members into the club, and show them the quality of our mountaineering. i think we did that successfully, without having to tempt fate, or hoping that something would go awry, and thus lend the experience some credibility for its sheer difficulty. it is true that many ICs will be remembered for their tendency to push the envelope, to push us to tears and to the edge of sanity. maybe it's time to set a new standard: why can't an IC be hitch-free? it began with the weather, after all.

so despite the impossible load on my shoulders, i ended the climb without feeling sore. the only pain i had to endure was the one vibrating from my lower left second molar. but that's another story.

welcome to the club batch 2k9! here's looking forward to climbing many mountains with you.

3 things, one island: aquathlon, orienteering weekend, 15-kilometer qualifying run, corregidor

2009-10-14T08:45:39Z

anyone who frequents the blog will notice that my entries have been far and few between. not that i have a dearth of topics to write about, but i have perpetually been deprived of time. while writing appears to be natural for me, i really have to find time to do it. i can draw inspiration from anything, and can write about the most mundane as well as the most profound subjects, given the opportunity. so it is true after all: despite all indications, i also have days when i'm flooded with work.

the last weekend marked the beginning of the end of the 2009 BMC. it was decided to compress the orienteering activity as well as the 15-K qualifying run, to save both time and costs. which is an improvement, i would say, from the first calendar, which had placed the 15-K too close to the induction climb. the orienteering weekend is always fun, if not for the trainees who are terrorized by the idea of having to take an exam, read maps and navigate with compasses, and employ skills learned over a period of 3 months while dressed for battle, but for the members, who lug along meals worthy of a modest feast, along with crates of alcohol in a bid to be the last to pass out. i was also somewhat involved in a different activity: as support group for TMM-timex participating in the first corregidor aquathlon.

i was personally very excited about the weekend because it would be held at the island of corregidor. not only will i be able to update my lakbayan map, but also i hoped to see a bit of the historic place. i did what seemed to be humanly impossible: i brought along my entire kitchen, all my mountaineering gear, plus my bike. also, i volunteered to do most of the groceries and the meal planning. in hindsight, not being able to collect from everyone, i now realize that this is both stupid and tiresome. i will think twice about doing it again.

anyway, at a shave before 5am on saturday, i was already at CCP. i hadn't slept the entire day friday: went to quiapo, did the groceries with janice, dropped off my bike at roy's, picked up the pinaupong manok from home, and drank till 2am at joven's place. and i hadn't packed. nonetheless, i was awake for most of the trip to the island, even while the tour guide gave us a history lesson. my eyes were closed and i feigned sleep throughout, but i listened and absorbed.

at corregidor, we were dropped off at our station. i was invited to share my rice cooking skills at the meal planning station. but before we could focus our attention on the orienteering activity, there was the aquathlon. i had seen many of them inside the ferry and they looked pretty scary. by that i mean i wouldn't want to take my shirt off in their presence, nor would i want to be in competition against any of them. and that's just the girls. due to a lack of personnel, i somehow ended up helping out the organizers, and even doing the body markings. i should volunteer to do this more often!

and then i handed my camera to dindo and decided to take videos of the aquathlon instead. the waves were huge, and it was difficult to swim in chest-deep waters, so for the first 400-meter swim, most of the participants were just wading. it was quite funny to watch. the run leg is 7km, and it goes up to the ruins of countless barracks, along a steep road which was difficult to bike. i would have much preferred running some portions. and to think i was briefly possessed with the idea of joining the race. thank goodness i had second thoughts! by the time i was back at the beach, roy was already halfway through the final swim, and he was the first to cross the finish line at a time of just over 50 minutes.

after the aquathlon, i managed to sneak in some sleep. we were the last station so the trainees would only be arriving late in the afternoon. and at around 4pm, they showed up, going through the motions of the activity, station by station. i was rowing in two rivers, actually, because i also had 2 stoves at the stovemanship station, where i also lectured and shared. in so far as skills are concerned, i really don't believe in evaluating what a trainee knows; i'm more eager to share what i've learned, and work on the trainee's knowledge from previous climbs. that's why we're here after all.

by the time most of the groups had arrived, night had fallen, and many of them were cooking rice illuminated by headlamps. i was already frequently distracted because i had to deal with our meal plan. when we started eating, some groups were still working on their rice. a few of them had hard heads and stuck to their age-old methods, which have been proven to be ineffectual. i've learned very early in my mountaineering exploits never to settle for good enough.

so while they struggled with making something edible out of their experiments, we began the feast. my mom's pinaupong manok was a big winner, and so was my ginger dip. mannie also threw in kobe beef salpicao and cream dory fish fillet with 17 (not-so) secret spices. everything that followed seemed to be a blur. i don't know when the first bottle was uncorked, or how and why i ended up in a dance showdown with al, or why i cried buckets when i visited the trainee campsite, and when i finally ended up inside my tent. but that's about the sequence of events as i remember it. of course, there were many swigs and hoots and screams in between, but they all happened so fast, i didn't have time to absorb much of it.

the next thing i knew was rising up in the midst of an uneasy dawn, wanting to be of some use during the 15-K. i mounted my bike, went to where the trainees were doing their warm-ups, and looked to see what i could do. i was asked to lead the prayer and deliver 6 liters of water 6 kilometers away. i biked back and forth, and enjoyed the view immensely: there's something about corregidor that begs another visit. but the current concern was the 15-K. in a way, the terrain was less unforgiving than the steep slopes of los baños, but the distance between water stations was some cause for concern for me. there were also stretches of road where no members were present. nevertheless, the support could be felt in the whole island: some members ran the entire course alongside trainees who needed a push, a shove, a tug, a pull, and maybe some motivation.

on my last bike back to the finish line i decided to pick-up eds along the way, to egg her on and resist the temptation to walk. eds is going to be part of my induction group, and i remember clearly how it was when we did our 15-K. previous to her, i had seen many faces, some gripped by pure exhaustion; others convulsing under the heat. but there were many more smiling despite the difficulty. if everyone had paid attention to the training, finishing 15 kilometers should be possible. not necessarily easy, but doable. eds was determined to finish the run, although many times she was about to give up and surrender. i could see she was about to crack. my job was to provide the external push. i couldn't carry her; i couldn't run on her behalf. but i can give her countless reasons why the demons tempting her to stop or to pause should be ignored.

finally, we went inside the darkness that is the malinta tunnel, and i kept reminding eds that only a short distance was left. just a bit more, just a bit more. i was behind her right to the finish, where she finally heaved a sigh, laughed a little, and cried. and then i looked back. there were a few more behind, and i worried they might not finish. and then i heard thundering cheers. emil and donna were both making a mad dash for the finish. i couldn't quite explain why, but as they neared, tears welled in my eyes and i was just overcome with emotion. i was a trainwreck! i had to fight back the swelling joy and pride for a batch that i've seen grow through several wednesdays, a few sundays, and 4 climbs. it was just not right to be crying when the event demanded celebration.

but the day wasn't over yet. we had to deal with the backpack rafting activity, then lunch, and then going home. i'd have to admit that they rafted no more than 150 meters. it was the shortest rafting activity i could remember. we floated on a still river for more than 30 minutes, towing others in our group! and because we had a pre-rafting inspection, no one came out of the water with water inside their bags! finally, it was time to go home. we walked to the pier, loaded our bags onto the ferry, and i stayed awake for the 2-hour trip, being evil. haha. i thought i was going to hit the sack early, but i was called to seaside in macapagal for early dinner!

and that's what happened to me during the weekend. i still have a backlog of things to write about. maybe tomorrow. or tonight. we'll see. in the meantime, my warmest congratulations to batch 2k9. this early, i'm already looking forward to the mountains i will be climbing with you.

my thoughts on ondoy, part 2: deployment operations at biñan, laguna

2009-10-06T09:03:31Z

while wading through shin-deep floodwaters in bgy. de la paz in biñan, laguna, a young man clutching onto some donations paused to speak to a young woman who had just purchased some canned goods from a make-shift store. the man complained that the woman has not given him any animals; she replied that she'd sent over a banana tree, an elephant, and a cow, and that all these gifts would be received if he also sends over something. the man promised to send over a plant. the two were talking about farmville, a game application in facebook. there is no visible plot of land within their 10 minute radius where they could possibly plant anything that cannot grow on a pot, as the rising level of the laguna lake has turned surrounding villages into virtual water worlds. seven days after ondoy poured a month's worth of rain in less than 6 hours over metro manila and its surrounding provinces, communities are still submerged in flood, and families continue to live on the second level of their homes, and get around on anything that floats: canoes with a single outrigger, giant inner tubes tied together, watertight drums festooned under wooden planks, the carcasses of old refrigerators, and bunched up styrofoam.

the fact that the two were talking about facebook does point to a filipino fascination with online social networking sites. but the fact that they were talking about it in the midst of misery and devastation points to another quality of filipinos which i cannot quite put a finger on. others may call it resilience. some may refer to it as happiness. i wonder whether it is something under the category of surrender and resignation.

on friday night, several members and trainees from the AMCI mountaineering club, inc. gathered at the residence of mannie dela serna to repack water bottles, rice, canned goods, noodles, used and new clothing, into approximately 250 bags of relief goods. there was a discussion whether the deployment would take place the following day, when typhoon pepeng (parma) was scheduled to make landfall. eventually, it was decided that saturday would be the day to distribute whatever we have collected. more than the number of expected volunteers showed up: there was nothing for any of us to gain from the endeavor, but many were willing to allocate a portion of their time for the efforts. earlier in the week, some 300 bags were already handed out in san mateo, where flash floods ravaged communities and leveled entire homes. laguna was chosen on the basis of reports that many villages remain submerged in floodwaters from laguna lake. karl called up some contacts in biñan, and shortly after lunch on saturday, we were entering narrow passageways that had visibly been affected by the flood.

when we reached de la paz, tricycles and makeshift flotation apparatuses gathered at the fringes of a muddy street where dry land and flooded by-ways met. we immediately planned on going to yatco, at the far-end of the barangay, which is still under 6 feet of water. while we transfered our bags onto tricycles, a woman inside a van asked if we could facilitate the distribution of the relief goods they collected. instantly, our stock increased by another 250. she said that she would rather have outsiders take care of whatever they collected, than entrust the distribution to local officials. apparently, she has also read about barangay officials opening sari-sari stores at times of similar calamities. and shortly after, another two cars handed us their goods: an additional 100 bags. they didn't bother asking which outfit we were from; it was sufficient for them to see that we were outsiders willing to help, and also willing to brave murky waters to reach out to those most in need. at the time, locals had already milled around us, and we were half-concerned that we might fall victim to an angry mob. we routinely plucked burly men from the streets to act as our bodyguards, and secure our relief goods, and ensure the safety of the volunteers.

initially, i forded through the murky floodwaters, confident that my gaiters would keep me more or less shielded from whatever diseases that may be floating on the water. visibly, commerce goes on: the boats aren't there as some form of assistance. they've taken the place of tricycles and jeepneys which are obviously not amphibious. the boatmen, who may either use paddles fashioned from wood and the cover of a can or alternately push and pull the canoe, are also businessmen, trying to eke out a living from the disaster. some families have already decided to evacuate: furniture and appliances are being shipped out, but there are many who still insist on staying. at the beginning of the trip to yatco, several women already inquired if we were giving out tickets, or if we were going to visit their areas. a few of them tried to convince me that they were affected worse than others.

after a few minutes, we found yatco, or at least, what remains of it, 5 feet upwards, floating in trash, debris, and a mix of gratitude and greed. the water in some parts reeked of a foul odor. i began to think about sanitation and the spread of disease. maybe we should have been handing out antibiotics as well. from our little canoes, bags were handed out to families peering out of second-floor windows and sitting useless on their roofs. many of them were profuse with thanks. others were adamant and insistent that we give them more, and do not seem to have gratitude in their vocabularies. some women overly dramatized their plight, saying that they had nothing to eat, when they were surrounded by fully-stocked stores that still functioned despite the flood. i gathered from one man that the area gets flooded every 6 years, but this one was the worst since 1988, when the waters drained only in january the following year. this makes you wonder why people insist on staying, when lives are are completely altered by the rising tide. but then again, when the coming of a flood becomes a cycle, a routine, you tend to wonder whether they have an entirely different concept of normal.

so people say that filipinos tend to cope with disaster in a manner that is characterized by hopeful cheer and unparalleled optimism. i wonder whether that is a quality that is unique to our culture, or whether it is because we are so used to misery, whether wrought by natural calamities or induced by human neglect, that we are so accepting of the temporary disruption of our lives. perhaps it is because we have seen worse, or expect to see much worse, that we are able to laugh at, and laugh despite, the most dire of circumstances. is it because a high quality of life and a functioning government are things which lay beyond our normal expectations, that we are always ready to deal with situations of emergency? these are questions we need to ask ourselves, and this might pave the way for a better tomorrow for all of us, devastation and disasters notwithstanding.

after handing out all our bags, we silently moved out of yatco amidst cheerful goodbyes and thankful waves from individuals who said that we were the first to reach out to them, despite the hisses and whispers that we were selective in giving out help. certainly, not one person has a monopoly on misery, and we were not qualified to make a determination of who appeared to be more needing than others. we did what we could given our limited resources, out of a pure desire to help: we did not desire fame, and doubt very much whether we would gain any from our actions. it was sufficient for us to see genuine gratitude and sincere smiles in the midst of tragedy. we are among the lucky ones, virtually unaffected save for a number of inconveniences which pale in comparison to those still living in the squalor of the flood. and everyone fortunate enough to have been spared should celebrate by donating a portion of his or her time, wealth, and prayers to rebuild the lives of our beloved countrymen, and birth the future of our beloved country.

my thoughts on ondoy

2009-10-02T09:21:59Z

for the last four nights, i have been struggling in bed, unable to sleep. the basement parking of the building where i live was flooded by at least 17 feet of water, trapping 9 vehicles including a luxury sedan, and leaving us powerless since saturday. i have kept my petzl myo XP headlamp handy, as walking through pitch-black corridors can be a little daunting. i have been told that the situation will likely last until next week after they dry out all the cables and inspect the wires and circuit boards. despite my open windows, the heat has been unbearable, and i have to constantly wake every hour to fan myself with a piece of cardboard. my sheets and my pillowcases have been drenched by sweat, and the circles under my eyes are proof to my lack of good sleep. i have put my mountaineering equipment to good use: i turn on my black diamond camp lamp when i need to go through my routines at night and in the morning. when i arrived last monday, the refrigerator was a stinking mess. everything that could possibly rot inside it has perished, and i will likely give up many more things. despite that, i had given up a good portion of my groceries from the previous week to my mountaineering club's relief efforts: about two weeks' worth of stash, consisting mainly of a lazy bachelor's inventory: canned goods and noodles.

i have decided against going home to my parents' house in QC, as i have grown unaccustomed to the 2 hour stressful commute each morning. i still have running water, and food can easily be had within 2 minutes. i am able to charge my phone and other gadgets at the office, and internet is available. despite the lack of quality sleep, at least, i still have a dry, warm bed to plop down on every night. so no one has heard me complaining about the situation here in makati. it would be shameful of me to whine about the little inconveniences i have to deal with when so many others have to contend with far worse conditions. thanks to facebook, the inquirer, and gmanews, i have kept myself updated of the goings on, post-ondoy.

when the worst rains experienced by manila escalated into the worst flooding in the last 4 decades took place, i was up in the mountains, faced with difficulties i have decided to endure. when i arrived at the campsite late afternoon on saturday, we were instructed to inform our loved ones in manila that we were fine. we had also received news that manila was flooded. completely detached from the precise details of the carnage that swept through manila and its nearby provinces, we laughed off the news and partied with the sound provided by my altec lansings. it was only the following day, when successive messages reached me asking about our safety, that i began to be inquisitive. and still, the picture wasn't complete. only upon our return to baguio close to midnight on sunday were pieces of the puzzle appearing.

i am used to hearing about flooding in parts of metro manila. it is a regular occurrence along españa, and in villages along riverbanks and near the sea. i would have kept laughing it off until i began hearing about the loss of property, the loss of livelihood, and the more tragic loss of lives.

and i was away while all these happened, all in the space of a few hours. could i have made a difference? i am thinking of where i would have been had i decided to stay in manila. i would probably have just stayed in my building, waiting for the rain to stop. what a difference that would have made.

right now, i am inundated by stories of the scale of devastation. i have read accounts of tragedy in the past, but it has always been impersonal, many times removed: testimonies from people not known to me, anonymous names flashing on the screen or spelled on print. but it is different this time. this time, the stories are intimate. i would count friends whose lives have been altered by ondoy, but i do not seem to have enough fingers. homes and other valuables have been ravaged. for many of the people i know, it is just a matter of cleaning up, a chore that might last a week, or maybe even two. but picking up the pieces afterwards might take a little longer: rebuilding the lives altered by this catastrophe would take years. so far, the worst stories i have heard from the people i know is having to shovel out mud from inside their homes. i have not yet received accounts of death, and do not know whether i am prepared to hear them.

and while reports of tragedy number in the tens of thousands, accounts of selflessness and heroism from the simplest of individuals number in the hundreds of thousands. in an earlier blog, i said that the worst times bring out the best in all of us, and while i may have been talking about a mountaineering experience then, the light of the human spirit shines brightest in no other situation than now. i am actually ashamed that i have at best been an armchair volunteer. work has banished me in front of a computer and on top of a chair, and the best i have so far done is sacrifice a few groceries. i am embarrassed by that fact. the last that i have volunteered for any serious relief efforts was in high school, in the aftermath of the july 1991 earthquake, when we helped to repack goods and used clothing for the victims. i want so much to be a part of something. i want so much to make a difference. i want to celebrate the fact that my family and i are unharmed, by God's grace, and i would like to share my good fortune with those who have been hit the worst. it is not that i want to count myself among countless heroes who have given up a part of their safety or a portion of their wealth to contribute to something greater than themselves. i just want to express my gratitude.

and also, i want to celebrate my heritage. ironically, it is during these most trying of times that i am most proud to be filipino.

looking back, looking forward

2009-09-24T07:35:30Z

last saturday i showed up at a "meeting" with high school batchmates for a reunion being planned for december. a lot of us showed up: 29. that's already an impressive number considering that in many previous homecomings at the trinity high school grounds, there were instances that only 3 of us came. many times i have said that those of us born in 1976 are quickly approaching an age where nostalgia becomes natural, and we pine for memories of carefree days when we were more concerned about the amount of gel or hairspray we applied onto our heads, or managing the pimples that erupted on our faces. but now that nearly everyone of us has unwittingly (and in some, less gracefully) adopted new roles and responsibilities, the changes have been remarkable. i have to confess that when i belatedly showed up, i couldn't recognize most of the girls; the guys still look pretty much the same, though for most of them whom i have never seen since 1993, they have rather comfortably shifted from thin and awkward teenagers to beer-bellied uncles. in general, many of us have willingly settled into spouses, mothers, fathers, and sleep-deprived workaholics. and it's only been 16 years! someone brought along our yearbook, and other than the goatee and a little extra weight, i haven't changed at all. although there were also many surprises. one batchmate was untouched by time: he still looks like a tweener. another batchmate gained about a foot in height (seriously), but his legs look strangely long. most guys have decided to look as different as they did in high school, and this meant putting on a lot of weight, a lot of stress, and some facial hair. if anything, what has remained constant among many of my batchmates is their behavior. it surely felt like a rowdy, noisy, night, except we were allowed our alcohol. but could some of them please mature? it looked like a JS prom, with the girls in one corner, and us guys on the other! smoking and videoke were the only things that united us!

i decided to facilitate the meeting without anyone asking. if i hadn't done so, it may not have pushed through at all. we belong to a generation of nurses and IT professionals, and maybe more than a third of our batch has either migrated abroad or is gainfully employed there. we'd like to entice them to come back with this planned "big" reunion. in 9 more years we celebrate our silver reunion, and that means hosting the homecoming at the high school. i wonder how much more different we would become then.

so here i am celebrating fountains of youth, all these changes, and all the differences. cheers to growing old gracefully. and i may not necessarily be talking just about me!

the best of climbs, the worst of climbs: AMCI B2k9's third training climb

2009-09-22T08:17:00Z

this is a tale of two mountains. the first is about my initial foray into mountaineering, where, despite having neither skills nor training, but with virginal interest and enthusiasm, i fell in love with the sport, and decided that i would like to keep returning to the mountains. the second is about my most recent climb, where, despite years of experience and deep pockets of wisdom earned from more than 70 excursions to the outdoors, i was on the verge of desperation.

but in fact, i am speaking of the same mountain, my first and my most recent, but definitely not my last: mount pulag. it was on this mountain, in february of 2003, about two weeks before the results of my bar exams were released, that i sat on a hill overlooking the campsite: a brown, flat patch of land, transforming into a many-colored village of tents. hunched over a sheet of blue tarp, i ate some of the best meals i have ever had anywhere. unbeknownst to me then, this meal would set the standard for all the dinners of my future climbs. more than seven years later, i returned to pulag: my eighth visit to this place of beauty and wonder, and for more than 12 hours, i stayed awake inside my wet tent, constantly in prayer, worrying about my rainfly either getting ripped apart or being blown away.

but it didn't start out that way. although it had been raining continuously in manila on the week of our departure, the early dawn in baguio held a lot of promise. i couldn't sleep throughout the 6 hour bus ride and its many stops, even much less inside the bumpy jeepney ride to kabayan, but i was still full of energy. i was part of dennis's group, AGL for the third straight time. i had piqued the interest of the members of my group with pictures of puffy clouds at my feet, and a sky pierced by rays of sun. i had brought along a tie to match my trekking shirt, and had also lugged my UWA to get even more breathtaking images of the famous sunrise.

from the jump-off at the school in edet, after i led the prayer, we began the climb gingerly: the group numbered more than 80, and walking single-file, we marched through the wondrous pine forest with great cheer and a positive outlook. the TL, in all the pre-climb meetings, had assured everyone that the climb was going to be lots of fun. and we certainly looked forward to it. after a short while, we reached the campsite beside edet river, which roared in the distance. i had only decided to pitch my tent on a small mound when a steady drizzle began to descend from the heavens. the area we had designated as our kitchen was a mess, and the areas where joven and dennis pitched their tents were flooded. before long, i had cooped up inside my tent unwilling to go out even for dinner because i didn't want my jacket to get wet: i was keeping it dry for the bitingly cold weather at the saddle. at the time, and despite all indications, i was still extremely positive.

the slight rain eventually let up when darkness fell, and although i had all but given up hope on the kitchen, we ended up uncorking spirits to celebrate the improving weather on the mountain. little pools had gathered around our area, and a moat had in fact surrounded my tent. pretty soon, having been the group that carried the most alcohol (i alone had a liter of tequila, 6 lemons, nearly a liter of bailey's, and a liter of tropicana), naturally, the crowd was drawn towards us, and the music provided by my altec lansings. when we instructed the trainees to retreat into their tents for lights out, mannie was trying to bribe me to sacrifice my liter of tequila, which i had set aside for the second day's socials. i prematurely decided to sleep while the rest continued with a more subdued drinking session under sir manny's huge kitchen tarp.

i slept peacefully with no blanket, and woke up when bugsy came to rouse the trainees in my tent. when i finally crept out of my tent, it was a dry, crispy morning, and we dutifully worked on the kitchen: we were a large group: with the lead pack joining the meal plan, it was difficult to manage, and we ended up not cooking everything we had planned, with some people settling for a strange pairing of danggit and focaccia bread. italy meets cebu. we were among the last groups to pick up our bags from the campsite, and begin the 8 hour ascent to the summit. in all my 7 previous climbs to mount pulag, i have punished my weak knees by descending akiki 4 times. they call this a killer trail because the steep incline usually results in many dead toenails (surprisingly, i have only killed toenails twice: the first time in amuyao, and the second time only recently at cristobal). and this was one reason the climb excited me: it would be my first time to attack akiki from edet. slowly, despite the lumbering weight of my 70-liter pack, i steadily ascended the trail, even as an ever-present drizzle accompanied us as we crossed the rickety hanging bridge.

i was weighed down by at least 20kg, by my estimates. i had carried heavier before, that's for sure, but for how long can i keep the charade? i am not as strong as everyone thinks, nor am i as strong as i would want to be. i would have wanted to sprint towards the saddle, past the pine forest, its erect trees and its winding trail, and carve out a nice campsite for my group. but it wasn't meant to be. although i forged on until after the lunch area, when i finally reached the last water source where joven and i sacrificed and loaded 5 liters of water each for the grand socials i imagined we would have, a pair of muscle cramps had gotten the better of me. i was licking salt off my palm, and it helped only a little. inside the mossy forest, there were instances when i could no longer put one foot ahead of the other. and when we finally walked out of the forest and its gnarled, stunted trees, a fog had enveloped the entire scene that there was no way i would survive the remaining trek without a shell. so i fished out my jacket from deep inside my bag and endured a howling wind for the final push up the campsite. by this time, the trail had become a small gully where a the waters of a chilling stream flowed down, and i could imagine my toes shrinking into pale prunes.

by this time, joven had left me behind and i was trekking with 3 girls in my group. we were silent for most of the time, with our heads bowed and our vision locked onto the trail. there wasn't much to see. it was a face of pulag i was most unfamiliar with: i've always been lucky with this mountain, and have always been blessed with great weather. but someone's bad luck had cancelled my good fortune. the campsite only finally unraveled when we were 20 paces away. very quickly, we identified a spot to pitch a tent. there was no use waiting for the rain to stop, although it was only a little after 3pm. while they held a groundsheet overhead, i quickly set up my marmot bise 2P, and in less than 4 minutes, it was already standing. i kicked off my shoes and snuck inside and called everyone inside, a wet floor be damned. i only requested them to take off their boots. eds was already crying and shivering profusely when she went inside, and before long, there were 7 of us inside the 3-season, 2-person tent: myself, eds, jackie, ming, dennis, bugsy, and joven. it was also providential that most of my things were within arm's reach, so i managed to open my tequila, and we allowed the substance to warm us down a bit. after a while, i devised a plan for us to move out of the wet clothes that still clung to our bodies, without anyone having to leave the tent and get wet. it was the equivalent of having a blood compact in the mountains; instantly, i had 4 new best friends, with whom i have shared the most intimate of moments. in the meantime, joven devised a tarp over my vestibule so i could at least attempt to cook dinner.

so with what was available, i managed to cook 500grams of the penne pasta, and throw in most of the aligue as well as the mussels. the ingredients were incomplete, and i kept apologizing about the pasta not being al dente, but my cooking has never been more appreciated before. i would have wanted to cook something more because i felt that two scoops of pasta were certainly not enough, but alas, i ran out of energy, and the eerie silence of the night suggested that everyone may have gone to sleep. i could hear nothing but the vibrations of my vestibule and the drumming of the rain on the fly. we had done the best we could to stay dry: i wiped my floor clean, and we crammed 4 of us into the space available. it was when we decided to sleep that things had turned from miserable to unbearable.

zipped inside my dreamlite 500, with only a portion of my face exposed, i could hear the violent clapping of my vestibule against the onslaught of an omni-present wind. it came from all directions, battering my unstable shelter with gale forces. i had to unclip the brow poles and watch helplessly as the spine bent with such drama, it caused the mesh of the body to touch our heads. at this time, i tried to make adjustments: double staking my doors which unzipped from the sheer force of the wind and manually supporting my poles, while reciting a silent prayer. all throughout the night, i was praying. at first, i asked for better weather. but i realized that one shouldn't make demands from God, so i changed my tact after repeating the same pleading. i then asked for strength to endure the night: in particular, i prayed that my tent survive the storm. as the winds pounded the rainfly, it scraped against my poles, i feared it might burst open and expose all of us to the rain! although the tent shook and flattened as though it were being trampled upon by large, clumsy feet, we were at least relatively dry and considerably warm inside: none of us shook violently, and my girls appeared to be feigning sleep despite the ruckus that was taking place. although the wind howled and swooshed, i noticed that someone was snoring in a nearby tent. i suspected it was inside my TNF talus 23 which was steady despite the little whirlwinds that assaulted the campsite. i repeated my prayers for my tent to make it through the night, until i realized it was already morning, and i heard arnel's voice call out my name: "alman!" he cried out. "ano?" i barked back. "uwi na tayo." it was already half past 4 in the morning.

almost immediately, i squeezed out of my sleeping bag, put on my jacket and moved out of the tent to see what else i could do. barely 10 seconds out in the cold, i jumped back into the tent. i couldn't bear the cold! i waited for some sun to come out before i actually did anything, although i managed to pack everything into my bag without leaving the tent. when i finally crawled out of the tent, i saw the carnage of the night's storm: tents bent into strange shapes, equipment scattered all around, and genuine fear etched in the faces of my companions. the only sustenance we had for that morning was a can of pineapple chunks. chaos theorists say that things fall apart, and this was one of them: none of us had emergency food available. very quickly, i squished my tent into the bottom compartment of my bag, picked up a lot of stuff that would've been left behind, and started trekking for ambangeg. the wind was still unrelenting at this point, and it was a difficult 30 minute push up the side of the summit towards the open grassland where we were open target to the sour weather. the weather conspired against us that moment and the wind grabbed drops of rain and pricked our faces. walking through that carnage felt like being slapped by a prickly curtain. although normally the trek would be a pleasant walk through endless mounds of grass, we were focused on watching the trail, and turning our faces away from the source of the wind. it was slow moving all throughout the grasslands, and i had barely noticed that i was pushing the tail-end of our group. there were many times that eds and i trekked hand-in-hand, and at one point, i had to drag her along to gain speed.

after about an hour-and-a-half, we reached campsite 2, but i said that resting would just cool our bodies. besides, reaching ambangeg earlier would mean a warm meal. dangling that promise seemed to work because our pace quickened, and we forgot about the aching muscles on our shoulders and continued the trek to respond to the complaining movements inside our tummies. we rested a while at the shed near campsite 1 and i proclaimed that the remaining trek is only 2km: the longest 2km many of us endured, as the final 20 minutes seemed to be interminably long. and then i told eds that we were already at babadak. i zoomed to the ranger station and looked for my group. some of them had already bathed and changed. there was a lot of screaming from the toilet. janice asked me to prepare dinner, so i ordered everyone to take out their food load, their pots, their stoves, and began to see what i could do. i cooked rice, heated the adobo and the beef bulgogi, and within 10 minutes, had several pita pockets to share. then, janice lorded over the chicken curry and mercy took care of the sweet and sour pork, and i managed to do number 2 and take a bath. it felt great to be dry and warm, but my duties at the kitchen were far from over. we still had lots of food to cook, and i basically shared whatever we had with anyone who was there. i have never heard that many thanks in the span of only an hour. i even managed to slice some spam for the sweepers, before cleaning up, while many others had retreated into a small room, imbibing the many spirits we failed to open the previous night.

when the last person had finally changed into dry clothing, we loaded our packs onto the jeepneys and began the bumpy ride back to ambangeg, then onwards to baguio: a journey that would take us about 3 and a half hours. inside the jeepney, i was fully awake. it was sunday, past 3pm. i had been awake since 4am of saturday. do the math.

i have repeated many times that i have joined over 70 well-documented climbs since i first took up the sport in 2003, with 7 of them spent on the slopes of majestic mount pulag, but none of them compare to the experience of the second night at the saddle campsite. all throughout that evening, given the particularly controversial circumstances of this climb, i wondered whether any schadenfreude was taking place elsewhere. i always hope for good weather: it's an essential part of the prayers i usually say on behalf of the climb team, and i would never wish for anyone to have to endure something as difficult as that. but for some strange reason, i was rather happy that this took place and i experienced it. i couldn't compare it to anything i've had. i've been in miserable conditions before: i've experienced endless rains, freezing weather, and gale-force winds. but not all three at once. in fact, i was somehow delighted that 2k9 went through the ordeal so early into their mountaineering. it makes us realize many things about ourselves and about the sport we have chosen: it teaches many things about being prepared for doom even when everyone says it's going to be fun, but more important is that it also imparts a few of of life's lessons. i could list the things i realized about me, and all of them could have applied for all the previous climbs i've so far had, and i'm certain will define how i prepare for any future expeditions outdoors.

normally, misery breaks us apart into little pieces that can't be put back together. we cease to function properly, and the worst in us surfaces: we regret our decisions, despise our friends, and are drained of any energy. but although it would seem that nothing could be worse than what i had just described, all the same, nothing could be better. it was sweet misery: we all dealt with a looming crisis smoothly. the hidden leaders inside each of us very naturally revealed themselves, and we managed great cheer despite the unsavory conditions. i may not want to go through that ordeal again, but if it does happen again, i know exactly what to do. should i find myself in dire situations again, i could always remind myself of that evening at the saddle of mount pulag and proudly say: i've been through worse, and survived smiling.

postscript:

i used to laugh at people who wear those pretentious shirts saying that they survived sagada, batad, or pulag. i always tend to ask if their lives were in danger in any of those places, and the answer really should be no. but after what i've been through, i want that shirt. i, and about 80 of my companions, can all proudly and truly say that we all survived the worst of pulag.

thankful at 33

2009-09-08T09:12:15Z

i have only been 33 for over a week now and i have been neither under pressure nor under the impression that i should be making any profound statements about growing a year older. i had already done that when i hit 30, and also tried it a year later (check my birthday series), and maybe the next slew of realizations would take place when i'm closer to 40. in the meantime, i realize that i have been very blessed recently, and i would just want to count 33 random (non) things i am thankful for:

my mom, the only true magician i know, who cooks wonderful meals for me and my friends when i climb mountains, even while she always worries about me when i am in the outdoors.

my dad, who is so proud of me he talks about me and my accomplishments to a point that almost embarrasses me, and because he taught me how to pray and he prays for me when i forget.

my family, whom i now only see at most twice a month, during lunch at home with my parents.

my wandering heart, which drives me to wanderlust.

my strong legs and itchy feet, which endure the consequences of my wandering heart, but seldom complain.

fellow mountaineers, for leading me to savage paths, and for following my footsteps along shady trails, and who bear witness with me as nature's amazing beauty unfolds.

people who celebrate with me, and conspire with me, and seize the day with me, who like me live each day like it's their last.

daydreams, for giving me a sense of the infinite, the impossible, and the fantastic.

my anonymous readers, who flock to my blog for reasons still unknown to me, because they prove that my senseless drivel might actually be worth the time.

my independence, having survived more than 2 years of living alone and without television, sometimes nearly poisoning myself with my experiments in the kitchen, and fighting childhood fears, waking up in the middle of the night imagining silhouettes of unspeakable creatures on the wall.

my ambitions, which have more than inspired me to rise above my own limitations, and which continue to fuel my aspirations to overcome my own poverty.

the left side of my brain, which forces me to create and be creative, be it through poetry, prose, photography or some other medium.

my betters, because i see in them what else i can become, and how much more potential i have.

my mentors, for pointing me in the right direction, for showing me how things are done, for telling me what i've done wrong.

friends and classmates from elementary and high school, who provide me with sweet memories of yesterday, now that i approach an age of necessary nostalgia.

buddies who tip over bottles with me, who tell me when i've had too much to drink, or who trust their safety and integrity with me when they've had too much to drink.

the wisdom which not necessarily comes with age, but necessarily results from experience.

my curiosity, for encouraging me to explore and try out something new regularly.

my favorite authors, for keeping me company with their words and their ideas and their characters and their stories and their poems.

the brute honesty of friends.

the trust and confidence of my peers, for sharing with me their inner-most thoughts and their most private of feelings -- it confirms, contrary to popular belief, that i am someone who listens, who knows when to shut up, and who values secrecy.

my passion, for lending itself to anything and everything i do.

the gypsy in me, for adapting to the constant changes in my life.

my gift for observation, which, more than the actual gift for words itself, is a skill i get to use most as a writer.

my choice of athletic endeavors (though i am by no means athletic): running, mountain biking, mountaineering, and lately, swimming.

my spatial intelligence, because i have hardly ever gotten lost.

the comparative prosperity i am now enjoying, and which i graciously share with friends and family.

my increasing charm, for which i have no explanation -- i am baffled myself.

my solitude, and the comfort i feel about being alone: i am allowed much time to think and to be free, and to believe that i can be complete in myself.

my interest in the unusual and the different: i've happily been never trendy, and that sets me apart from the crowd.

the good health that has been given me: i have never had a cold, since enduring a two-month cold last year.

the ability to see beyond what is on the surface, to not put people into boxes, and to not dislike anyone for no apparent reason.

my conscious efforts at reducing the size of my carbon footprint, which i think everyone should endeavor to do.

the size of courage: AMCI B2k9's rappelling weekend

2009-08-24T05:51:18Z

i really didn't have any concrete plans for the long weekend. i was half expecting to hie off to some far away place in search of answers to questions i have not asked. instead, i found myself practicing french at aris's party, worrying about a flash flood, heckling chickens, and inducing a groin injury.

on friday, ninoy aquino day, i left with fabian to attend a small inuman in mandaluyong. unexpectedly, aris had some belgium-based guests with whom i carried on conversations in french. it's a good thing despite my level 8 vocabulary, i managed to survive a possible whipping! there were lots of beer at the party, and i was drinking till dawn the following day. al openly expressed his derision about my criticisms of his decisions even prior to TC2 but later admitted that my suggestions resulted in the improvement of the climb. i think we were actually stuck there because it rained non-stop shortly after midnight. all of a sudden, JC and i were left with the possibility of having to commute to the PNPA in cavite, just past santa rosa. it was B2k9's rappelling weekend, and there turned out to be very limited member support on such an important activity, so we decided to go -- but there was no way we could hitch a ride with any of the trainees, since by the time they were making their way for cavite, we were just on our way home. i peeled myself out of bed (surprisingly, no swirling headache, just a bit dazed and dizzy) at lunch time and met up with jing, bitoy, maxine, and JC for our ride to cavite. i packed my tent and thermarest for the camp out.

we arrived at the PNPA just as the trainees were doing the standard rappels. i'd done this many times: the first time in 2004 when i trained in sierra, then again in 2005 when i had my AMCI BMC. read about it here. i also demonstrated the rappel at the condemned pamantasan ng makati building in 2006. rappelling is really not about developing skills which may come in handy either in life or in mountaineering. rather, it's about conquering the evils that haunt us from within, and learning to have faith in your friends, and trusting equipment. without these, you will end up being consumed by the demons that whisper fears into your ears, that tell you you'll fall, that taunt you with nightmares about death and despair. the reason i was so eager to do the rappels myself was not because i was show-boating. quite the opposite. i hoped to inspire. i ddin't come into the PNPA knowing everything. in fact, i had to ask JJ to tie my rope harness and even asked questions from the instructors, just to confirm whether i remember the technique correctly.

so after i was reacquainted with whistles and screams to God, older brothers, mothers, and fathers, i volunteered to do the aussie (the instructors called it a rundown). i remember very distinctly why i feared this the first time i did it: i couldn't see the rope and whether or not it was attached to the 8 ring. so there's distrust. but immediately after i got over that initial lack of faith, i realized that it was not something to fear, but to experience. certainly, the height of the tower did make me feel a bit dizzy: it's a long way down, but i am assured of the fact that no one has died there. so even though i wasn't appropriately dressed (i was wearing a sando), i did my jump, singing, and hopefully showing, that it won't kill. many others followed immediately after i did, while a few others crumbled under the weight of their feather fears.

in the evening, we moved over to the campsite and pitched tents in an open field, not far from the firing range. hearing all those shots can sort of distract you. it was a nice, dry evening which moved quickly, and before i knew it, the morning had already arrived. there was a ropemanship lecture again, and i don't know why many seem to be still unfamiliar with even the most basic of knots. the PNPA approach is of course a bit different. afterwards, our instructors said that they'd take us on a short trek. i wasn't supposed to join, but went anyway. it was like having a TC2.5. crazy. and the narrow channel is prime candidate for a flash flood. i could tell by the level of the debris. the trail was also very steep.

the rest of the day was for the remaining trainees to do the aussie. again, fears were resurrected, but mostly conquered. others manufactured excuses, and some of the rappels became optional. i remember in 2005, everyone had to do every single rappel, crying and cursing be damned! in the end, despite the tears, we rather appreciated the activity, and were happy to have been subjected to the terror and the torture it does to the mind. unfortunately though, we ran out of time (it takes much to shore up courage), and only yob and myself did the lizard. yob's brand spanking new NB running shoes had a nasty rope burn on the left sole. and so did my salomon XA pros! sigh. but it was worth it.

to marvel at danger at the mariveles mountains: AMCI B2k9's second training climb

2009-08-19T08:54:22Z

"bakit natin ginagawa to?" frank asked as we dragged our boots along a muddy incline just beyond the papica-jerez boulder, while the narrow trunks of trees filled my field of vision, and i was busy locating yellow strings. "hindi ba to delikado?" he continued.

"ano ka ba," neri interjected. "delikado naman talaga ang mountaineering eh."

"iba to eh. pwede ka nang mamatay dito. pano kung magka-landslide? pano kung magkaron ng flash flood?" frank mused, recalling the morning's routine of fording through the shallow paniquian river.

at this point, having seen my marker and finding recent footprints on the ground, i jumped into the conversation with a lot of scientific BS. i explained that the selection of the mountain is the result of careful study: its rocky characteristics are such that the ground is a lot less likely to hold on to water which may in fact cause sudden, if not violent erosions. i didn't know jack about geology, that was for sure, and i knew much less of the geology of the mariveles mountains. whether in fact my explanation afforded frank some measure of reassurance, i wasn't certain either, but since the beginning of the climb just before the break of dawn that day, the challenges had been escalating in difficulty.

i played the role of AGL to my batchmate joven, who less than 3 days prior shook me with the possibility he might not be able to come. i had no desire to be a GL for TC2, if only for the fact that i dreaded having to take on the role of sweeper on a trail that was too technical, it bordered on the insane. we had already mapped out a strategy: i would be part of the lead pack to ensure our group a choice piece of real estate on the campsite between magellan trail and the japanese garden. but the best-laid plans have a way of going awry, and very early in the day, just after the gate, i was at the tail end of our group, with a metaphorical broom on my hand, pushing our trainees, as well as a few adopted ones, towards our goal.

i have been to tarak ridge many times before. in fact, i have been on the paniquian trail twice: in 2005 when i was an AMCI trainee, and again in 2007. the trail this year more or less followed the same trail as ours, which has now acquired infamy because several of my batchmates never made it to the campsite. the joke is that people crawled out of their tents early in the morning and found some of our batchmates decked in their battle gears, with their headlamps on, and were told that they were too early for the descent. the response was that they had just arrived. drawing perhaps from this scary experience, which we now hark back to with much fondness and humor, this year's trail was carved in such a way that no one would be doing a repeat of that near-catastrophe. while none of us was injured, the terror of being stuck on the spine of a featureless mountain in the black of night is not something you would wish on anyone, even though that experience has proven to be our greatest teacher, and our best inspiration.

we were mostly ahead of the itinerary, and by the time that we had moved out of the forest and witnessed the thundering roar that was the paniquian river's ungentle cascades, there was plenty of time to bathe and enjoy the cool, clear waters of mariveles. many groups spent long periods of time splashing water onto each other. it really was something to behold: water rolling into small pools, and on the cheeks of rock faces, beads of pure mountain stream fell. after only a few minutes, i received orders from my GL to forge ahead. paniquian river was much like it looked like in 2007: shallow, silent, gentle, meandering through a serpentine gully between steep walls, exposing boulders to the sun, while butterflies and dragonflies fluttered, and birdsong competed with the slow rush of water. it bore no resemblance to the menacing, white, frothing monster that drained us of our courage and robbed us of many things, tangible or otherwise, in 2005. anyone more nimble than myself would have kept his or her feet completely dry during the trek. our group was more or less intact at this point, and we saw few problems ahead: our greatest fear, which was to be trekking under cover of night, was still a distant, unimaginable threat at the time.

and then we came upon the start of cox's wall. it was a slow and difficult ascent, as the trail was pretty random. this was an unnecessary detour, whose only purpose was to expose the climbers to the difficulties of climbing, because pushing onward along the river would have taken us to more or less the same destination. on any other climb it would not have been completely appropriate. but here we were, like pipers leading half-asleep children away from their homes, and into the depths of danger. i am all too aware of the dangers of climbing, having been through more than 5 very difficult situations in mountains. i myself have fallen, slipped, let go. i've been cut, wounded, scratched, bruised, bitten. but i'm one of the lucky ones, i would suppose, because each time, i've survived and have managed to talk about my near-misses with a lot of exaggeration. but all throughout these ordeals, i have realized that i have come to appreciate my life and the lives of my loved ones even more precisely because i have found myself in places where a miscue could result in dire circumstances. i have never felt more alive than when i felt that my life was under constant threat. and that is the lesson to be learned here: more than just being a venue for learning valuable skills that could be put to good use in future climbs, i learned to embrace these difficulties as necessary evils, for the cost of appreciating the little things that i have always ignored is after all small. if people find remarkable the patience with which i deal with the travails of life, i point to the mountains as my greatest teacher.

so even though cox's wall had found us cursing at the heavens and at sky, i found myself drawing words to hopefully inspire. dan's exasperated interjections describing the female anatomy may have had its purpose. even when bugsy held on to dear life at a thin nylon rope at the end of the long and arduous challenge, i was confident that while she may have been holding on to the last straws of her courage and patience, that she will find more with the benefit of hindsight. i don't really wish to compare between 2005 and 4 years later: the circumstances are different, and the composition of the batch, much more unlike, but when faced with these things, i always just tell myself: i've been through worse. we allowed bugsy to collect herself, shore up some confidence while drawing ripples on the river, before we moved on to the SLAJJ waterfalls where we continued lunch. the last time i saw the falls, it was a column of white noise that we could not approach. but this time around, it had a nearly musical quality that drew us close to it. the trunk of a dead tree protruded from its glistening pool like a sundial, and many found themselves feeling the blood of the mariveles flow through their bodies: it soothed away the pain of the memory of cox's wall, although admittedly, i didn't get wet at all. i had my camera bag slung over my left shoulder, and i feared that water would blur my ultra-wide lens. it was an experiment on my part: bringing a camera with a lens whose focal length was 12-24mm. nevertheless, it was a decision wisely made.

after frolicking on the river, we pushed forward for the last stretch of our first day's ordeals: papica-jerez boulder and magellan trail. i was asked about the names of these trails, and i'm usually the wrong person to be asked because i always have an explanation to everything, which may actually be sound, but aren't necessarily correct. the boulder, not aptly chosen, i would say, is a slice of rock wedged into the mountain, it is a wonder how a trail was hacked through it. we mostly crawled through its rocky and slippery surface until we found ourselves hugging trees again. at one point, nelle slipped and even lost her hat to the cliff below. very shortly, we found the loree-jen stream: it flowed through a gully with fractured rocks, making a series of geometric patterns along the trail. at its end was the last watersource and the beginning of the magellan trail. i assured everyone who was within a few paces from me that we would be at the campsite by 4pm. i apologize for the miscalculation, because i stood on an area where i estimated our tents would fit at exactly 4 minutes past my prediction. one by one, i shook the hands of my groupmates as they trickled into the camp, where the lead pack and one other group had already pitched tents. before 5pm, everyone in the group was present, and the goal for day 1 was achieved. we quickly set up our tents, and changed into fresh clothing, to at least give us a semblance of civilization.

we prepared dinner while some light still filtered in through the dense canopy overhead, and even offered morsels of affection, scraps of encouragement, slices of fish, spoonfuls of chicken tikka masala, and heaps of rice to our friends who at nightfall still felt orphaned. we feasted on our meals under the combined glow of two black diamond lamps, and while a steady banter caused laughter and cheer. even though there remained yet another day, we had all began laughing about the mishaps that plagued our travails earlier in the day. finally, we uncorked our alcohols, and pretty soon, i was too tired and too inebriated to even inflate my therm-a-rest. the last thing i remember is dreaming that eubert was massaging my back. it turned out not to be a dream after all.

at a little after 4am, i was out of the tent watching the trainees take care of most of breakfast. i volunteered to cook the rice again, because i could very cranky if it weren't prepared properly. the weather had cooperated with us because the evening was warm, and the morning was dry. cleaning up was done quickly and pretty soon, we had all loaded and even managed to have a photograph with sky, who at this time, had been the most hated man in mariveles. oddly enough, he enjoys hearing about all that suffering, and relishes from all that scorn. after i led the morning prayer, we hauled our backpacks, unburdened by at least 4 kilograms, towards the remaining challenges of the day: the japanese garden, and the traditional trail to tarak ridge.

we plowed through the forest vertically, and the ensuing build-up was such that the next climber was always less than 2 meters behind. after about half an hour, we came upon the start of the japanese garden. i had heard that it was no longer as beautiful as it had once been: the terraces of rocks and the bonsai-like plants that grew alongside them had been obliterated by the natural movements of the mountain. but still, the landscape that unfolded before me when i crawled out of the shaded forest was amazing. the rocks now formed the rough spine of a serpent, curving and crawling upwards. there were many things to hold on to, and footholds to secure our step. it was breathtaking to have an unnamed mountain rising on our backs, while the sun blindingly winked ahead of us, looking back, it was as if i were staring directly down at the climbers below me, whose bodies were in close contact to the ground. far beyond was the island of corregidor, surrounded by the waters of manila bay. in the foreground was the town of orion. so this is what lay beyond the fog. it is the irony of this generation that one must endure hardships of an unimaginable scale in order to witness beauty such as what the weather allowed us that day.

after reaching the peak, we began the equally difficult task of descending, until the forest opened up with the view of tarak ridge, which seemed to point its way towards roxas boulevard (on clear nights, it is actually possible to see the faint lights of the baywalk). it was already 11am by the time we reached the ridge campsite, and the sun was beating down upon us with fury, so rather than toast under its unrelenting shine, we continued to descend towards the papaya river. along the way, i found eds limping due to a sprained ankle. alen and malvin were patiently egging her on. after about an hour, we finally reached the papaya river to break for lunch and to grab one last chance to bathe in the river. afterwards, i set the pace towards the end of our journey, trekking through the forest and out into the open where sky placed his last marker to indicate the end of the traverse: was he merely teasing or begging for violent reactions? he certainly will not get one from me, as i've endured him when he was stronger.

the rest of the trail was more or less familiar to me, although i have to confess that the fallen trees on the trail confused me a lot. before long, we were already at the "DENR" station for buko juice, which at P10 a pop, was the most refreshing thing within a radius of 30 minutes. after 2 glasses, yayi and i continued towards the hi-way, pining for ice-cold anything. the first thing i did upon my arrival at the MC lodge was to sequester a case of beer. i felt it appropriate to celebrate my group's safe arrival with a foaming bottle.

this climb was designed not so much to improve the climbing skills of the participants, because these things are developed over time, and with experience. but unwittingly, the genius of the trail lies in the fact that it imparts character and the right attitude, more than what its plotters intended. all of us may have finished, some not necessarily in better shape than others, but the true measure of success is not about who finished the earliest, with less slips, less cuts, and having cleaner trekking shirts. it's about how quickly one recovers from a bad fall, and realizing that no amount of complaining will ever get us closer to our destination. i am happy to have taken part in this climb because i have once again established beyond doubt the alacrity of the human spirit. i am proud of my friends, for leading the charge, for taking on responsibilities they vocally deride. i am proud of this new batch of future mountaineers, who rose to the occasion, and who despite their reservations and honest concerns, partake in the celebration of their lives through the purity of adventure.

back-to-back buffets

2009-08-14T12:17:25Z

this past week was filled with a slew of celebrations and buffets, and normally, i would complain about eating more than i can burn, but surprisingly, i left the binges without having filled more than 1 plate. last tuesday, i received an odd SMS from the department of tourism inviting me to dinner at barbara's in intramuros. i decided to go since i have never been there. barbara's is on the 2nd floor of an old house along the cobbled streets of intramuros across san agustin. the food was fine, not spectacular, and the ambiance hinted of old wood, and it even looked a little spooky. but the reason i was invited was the promotion of kultura pilipino, a buffet dinner capped with cultural presentations from select dance troupes. some students from a university in bulacan performed traditional filipino dances, and i couldn't decipher anything outside flirtation and courtship. i think that the dances from mindanao are so much more impressive, really, but i did enjoy it, particularly the maglalatik. anyway, i managed to finish a normal-sized plate and didn't have room anymore for dessert.

just this morning, my section at the office had a breakfast meeting at circles events café in shangri-la makati. it was my boss's treat. before i took a plate, i just took pictures of the food, until the head chef noticed me and asked why i took pictures and my reply was positively proletariat: oh you know i don't get to eat here often so i'd like to have a souvenir! haha. strangest thing though is that after a small plate of fruits and a pancake, i was okay, and didn't manage to finish the next plate and barely even touched the omelet. i hate wasting food, even if i'm not paying for it. i was so full that morning that i didn't even have space for lunch, that i skipped it altogether.

now i'm trying to figure out why my appetite has waned (not that i'm complaining), and i've realized that for the past 2 years that i've been living alone, my breakfast normally consists of a banana or taho or a sandwich or muesli or even just fresh milk. so i'm not used to stuffing myself silly anymore. the biggest meal i usually have is dinner. which isn't probably wise, but still i'm glad that i'm somehow unconsciously cutting down on what i stuff my face with. it's difficult when you're getting older... and i turn 33 in 16 days!

anyway, i've just packed my osprey argon 70 for my mariveles climb. we are retracing the 2k5 trail, and it has left me a bit giddy. i have lots to say about the climb even before it has started but i'll have to see if my preconceived notions remain the same once i've returned from the trek.

anti-social social networking

2009-08-11T06:45:12Z

something very interesting is going on in my facebook account: long-lost classmates from high school have suddenly discovered the internet and one of its social networking sites, and now they appear to be hell-bent on publishing the enormous differences between the past and the present. when i opened my friendster account way way back, i fished out my high school yearbook from my shelf and painstakingly searched for each and every classmate who may have had an account. i found less than 5. now that i've abandoned friendster in favor of facebook in 2007, i knew there was no way my tricol list would be expanded since it isn't my habit to add people, and that my friends then were probably not in the habit of having online profiles about themselves. until last year, i only had 2 classmates from high school on my friends list: alexis and nelson. today, i just approved another friend invite and the list is up to 43! that's a lot compared to the total of 8 high school friends i had in friendster!

speaking about facebook, it's true what you just read: i'm a snob and i don't add people. i may have added just 15 people in the beginning, and for a time, my friends were stuck at less than 70 and there was an interval when i ignored it altogether since most of the people i knew weren't there. then about a month later, i had over 30 pending invites already! i don't add people because i think that connections in facebook or friendster are at best artificial: it doesn't prove anything about the degree of friendship, or the depth of your relationship with anyone. it just gives you constant updates about what the person is doing, if he or she actively updates his or her profile. i'm interested in real relationships, not ones based on a binary code. but then again, i'm also a snob who fears rejection. i had a conversation with a friend and he asked me: hey, are you on facebook? i said yes, and then he said, add me. i said: i don't add people on FB. you'd have to add me, but he replied: no i want people to add me, not the other way around. and then i replied: then we will never be friends.

on FB friends, the number now stands at 544, which is lean actually. it isn't an indication of how friendly i really am (and i am, if not on FB, in real life). most of the people are from AMCI and law school both tied at 153 (only 1 friend is listed in both). and a distant third is tricol. the strange thing about these blasts from the past is that i don't remember many of them. not that i never knew them, but that they remind me about nothing of those bygone years. i don't just routinely approve invites, but i want to know if i actually know the person and have met them. when i look at their profile pictures, i see strangers, no one familiar. it's seriously alarming how much many of us have changed so drastically. i've heard it many times: i haven't changed much, and it's not something i can say about 90% of my high school batchmates.

so while we're on this subject, let me present a non-exhaustive list of weird things i find about facebook in general, and facebook users in particular.

quiz results. i have to confess: i hate these with a passion. not that i hate quizzes in general, but i hate seeing my newsfeeds bombarded with 5 quiz results. from one person. i honestly do not care which starbucks drink you are or what kind of kisser you are or which postcolonial theorist you are because these quizzes are at best superficial and generally terribly inaccurate. they don't say much about a person. they're extremely shallow, and i have no fantasy that i am profound or deep, because i have done a few of these quizzes myself but i don't inflict my trivial nature on anyone. the point is this: take the quiz, fine. but do you have to publish the results, every single time? what's worse is people inviting you to take a quiz so that you could compare results. i have removed close to 20 people from my FB just because they abuse their rights to take quizzes. about half of them have added me again but i didn't hesitate to remove them a third time. now i'm kinder: i just hide them completely.

game applications updates. these are really fun. during my first months in facebook, i was addicted to vampire wars, heroes ability, etc. they were the only reasons i kept going to facebook. but they quickly lost their novelty, really. now, i still play a game called castle age, but i quickly disabled its auto update function, so my friends don't have to suspect that i have too much idle time on my hands or that i'm not maturing. i especially find it strange that i always get these mafia wars invites, or gifts from farmville, or donations for friends for sale. we all hate unsolicited text messages or phone calls offering loans or insurance or even gym membership. no one appreciates uninvited visitors to your home to demonstrate vacuum cleaners or to sell fake detergent. same goes here.

how well do you know X quizzes. this one gets its own comment, my beef being that sometimes, people take the how well do you know X quiz and the results pop up on my newsfeed. problem is that i know the person who took the quiz, but i don't know X. so why would i be interested in the fact that my friend only got 3 out of 10 questions correctly? this is a flaw in FB, but also a problem with the users taking them. not everyone has to know that the two of you are strangers to each other after all.

wall messages. there is an inbox in FB, isn't there? so why post a private message on a wall for everyone to see when you can just as easily (and privately) send an email or a message? it's strange. another FB fault.

friend suggestions. six degrees of separation. just because X and i have 2 common friends doesn't mean we know each other. more to the point, just because Y and myself went to UP doesn't mean we know each other. 2,000 other people graduated from UP with me in 1997; a lot less when i graduated again in 2002. do i know all these 4,000 people, and the thousands of other graduates in between?

friend invites from strangers. if we don't know each other, why should i add you?

fan suggestions. so my friends X, Y and Z have signed up to be fans of newly-proclaimed national artist carlo "king of philippine massacre movies" caparas. why do you think i'd like to be a fan myself? i hate the bandwagon, and i'm not about to jump on one just because everyone's doing it. and 3 or even 4 friends doing something can't even be considered a bandwagon.

parents who make FB accounts for their infant children. it's not a sin to be proud of our little bundles of joy, but i think that it is a little imposing, if not altogether strange, that people create accounts for their babies, and publish entries in the first person (i.e., mommy and i went to the mall. i was on my stroller the entire time and was very well-behaved. then i burped!), only because i think it creates for children a personality which they may later regret, and ultimately robs them of choices. it really strips them of their future individuality.

false names. i had an invitation from a strange name with no photo, an improbable birth date, and an unintelligible location, but with whom i had more than 40 common friends. i declined it. then i received it again, so i asked: do we know each other. it turns out that this person created an FB account under an assumed name: why are some people so paranoid about social networking sites, but at the same time, so eager to be part of it? if you think this invades your privacy, then don't go public online. otherwise, don't be surprised if people ask you who you are and inquire about your true identity.

profile ads. it's just weird how FB decides what kind of ads will pop up on your homepage. i think they're based more on the IP address more than anything else. they've been so useless and irrelevant to me that i have never bothered to check any of them. if i placed an ad, i think i'd like it to appear on profiles based on the interests and needs of a particular user, and not his or her supposed location (clue: i get a lot of ads for luxembourg because of my IP address at work).

highlights. i also don't understand the logic behind the highlights tab on the right side of the newsfeed: it's pretty... random.

a fruitful saturday..?

2009-08-08T18:09:59Z

i spent the better part of saturday having a battlestar galactica marathon while cleaning up my unit and wrapping books.

first, about battlestar galactica: i'm surprised that i only started watching this series now, although i've heard of it over 2 years ago. i'm already done with season 1 and am now watching the first few episodes of season 3 as i type, although i had an incomplete season 2. i might return it to my DVD supplier and insist on a complete set. it's pretty engaging and i'm loving the moral conflicts embedded into the story arc. it has to be the one of the best TV series i have ever seen, and the fact that i've done nothing but watch it endlessly galvanizes my resolve not to get television: i'm addicted to the tube in a way that is both destructive and far from productive. although i have plans to get the complete season 2, i'm trying out other options as well: torrents, although, admittedly, it is going to take the next 2 weeks before i completely download the full season. haha. so much for wireless broadband.

now, about fixing my place: i've just started organizing my closet, cleaning out, and filling two trashbags. i realize that i have too many clothes for the space that's available, although when dressing up for anything outside of work, i often feel that i haven't got many options. still, i've already set aside a few things up for donation. or a huge garage sale.

stacking is the best way to achieve maximum compression
on the third thing, i've began wrapping books i bought from kinokuniya in bangkok, page one in taipei, backstreet books in chiang mai, powerbooks in trinoma and fully booked in rockwell. i'm really a bibliophile more than a bookworm, the distinction being that i buy more books than i can read. i probably have a love for books more powerful than my love for reading them. i read much less than i would wish. it's a shame, really. if i want to avoid unnecessary spending, i stay away from book sellers. and i have not been very successful, i have to say.

here's a book i wrapped in the late 90s: i haven't even finished reading this
so anyway, i enjoyed wrapping them, and i've employed the same technique i've developed since way back when i was in college. when i began collecting books, one of the first things i always did was to wrap them in plastic. i've tried other methods, but i've stuck to a method which i'd like to share with everyone. now a long time ago, jessica zafra actually wrote a column in the now-defunct today newspaper describing her style. i remember distinctly that she said the secret to wrapping books would be found in two volumes of collier's encyclopedia. she didn't mean that one had to do research. rather, she meant that the wrapped book had to be sandwiched between two heavier books overnight. for over a year before she came out with that column, i had been doing a similar, if not, far more technical method which is meticulous, comparatively painstaking, and requires equipment.

notice something? no tape
here are my materials, other than the plastic wrap and the new book: scissors, a big ruler, a cutting board, and a cutter. first i measure the book against the plastic wrap, cut plastic crudely, lay it out against the book on a cutting board, and with a ruler, refine the edges with a cutter. then i fold in the edges. i estimate some space from the spine and fold in the excess rather than cut it off completely. that way, i avoid tears and reinforce both edges of the spine. and here's why i need bigger and heavier books: i don't use any kind of tape to keep the plastic on the book. i noticed that tape can cause stains on the inside cover of a book. i leave the new books stacked and sandwiched overnight: at least 24 hours, and if they could wait, a lot longer.

when there are not enough stars to make a constellation

2009-08-05T09:46:13Z

the last weekend was jam-packed, considering that i was virtually useless for about 8 hours on saturday.

friday evening was 2k9's acquaintance party. as i had correctly predicted, the batch would request for a postponement to the usual date: there were delays in selecting batch reps and organizing the whole thing, so they moved it one friday forward. and a good thing too: at least i didn't have to rebook my earlier flight to cebu city -- or worse, not show up at the airport altogether! so after i got out of work last friday, i was already thinking of a costume. the theme was star. initially, i had wanted to come as the STAR tollway: my concept was to have tire tracks over a white t-shirt. i had difficulty finding a car to do that. so i sped off for market! market! to see if i could buy star studs to paste on a shirt. there weren't any, and i somehow found myself inside a toy store. i bought a set of 4 toy cars for P40.00, then bought a fabric pen from national bookstore for P56.00, went home, took out an old polo shirt, and began scribbling a road and some road signs. then, i took out my sew no more fabric glue and pasted the cars over the road, and voila! a costume!

before i left for the party, i had dinner with cisco and former colleagues from B&M at gilligan's in park square. they have the strangest policies in the world, i swear. they said i can't drink beer (not that i wanted to) because i was wearing shorts and slippers. i couldn't see the logic behind it. and the food was really bad: the peanut butter in the kare-kare was in clumps, and the sinigang was made with too much instant powder! i prefer gerry's over gilligan's any given sunday!

after dinner, i went home and left for pedro's warehouse in pasig. once i got there, i found the place huge, and nearly empty. it was already past 10pm. i deposited my contributions: jaggermeister and bailey's, and started shooting. it would be my first time to use an UWA for an event. thank goodness for the speedlight! raspatuberos performed, followed by a dance number which JC choreographed, and then some ho-hum games (i had to take over at one point), and finally tey's revenge. i wouldn't say that the party wasn't fun, but i can actually have fun without a lot of effort. i just felt that it was a bit lackluster, despite the theme. there were members, yes, but what disappointed me was that there were very few participants from the trainees themselves. i already know all the members, so i want to be acquainted with the new batch! i think maybe they need a lot more motivation to get to know the club and its members and the traditions of the majority. anyway, i was about three steps from getting stone drunk. many times, i had to literally run away from drinks. i might have had around 4 bottles of red horse: which are enough to wipe me out, usually. but others got drunk ahead of me, and i had to hold on to my sobriety to survive.

the following day, i woke up at lunch time with a bad headache. i uploaded photos of the party to facebook, while learning that cory had passed on. i popped ibuprofen and then went back to sleep. i got up again at 6pm. xenon was inviting me to accompany him to la salle to pay our last respects to the late former president. i wasn't too keen on falling in line in the rain, but more out of curiosity than an actual desire to honor cory, i agreed to meet up with him.

i am not a big fan of cory. the EDSA revolution took place when i was 9 years old, and cory was president till my last year in high school. what i remember of those years were protest after protest and a string of coups. i do not have a high regard of cory's presidency. i think she was a weak leader, did not have a clear plan for the economy, was not able to battle corruption, and was ill-experienced and ill-equipped to restore democracy. and i say that also with the benefit of hindsight as well as history. lately, before the onset of her sickness, i also felt that she made statements which cast doubt on her wisdom, and until lately, aligned herself with personalities that do not stand for the same things she supposedly does. people call her an icon and a symbol. it would not be honest of me to agree. but i will not debate with anyone who believes otherwise. they are entitled to their opinions, though i may not always see why.

outside la salle, the line had reached the foot of the flyover. by the time we stood on the queue, the end was nearing EDSA. we managed to get inside after about 40 minutes. once up at the la salle gym, i saw how different it looked in real life compared to the gloss of television. there were flowers all around and kris's son, joshua, was acting strange and even inappropriate beside cory's casket. event security was hired for the wake, who instructed us to hurry along. it isn't my habit to look at open coffins, but we weren't really allowed to linger. i had less than 3 seconds to glance at cory: her hair was jet-black, and she had a bright color on her lips. she was wearing yellow, of course, and may have looked younger than when i last saw her in one of her public appearances. after that, i was showed the door. exit left.

anyway, i don't really like to ride the wave of the majority and talk about the hottest topics that's consuming the collective unconscious. i leave that to the opinion makers and those who have no original ideas. so before i invite some unnecessary flame, i'll stop at that.

seek and you shall find

2009-07-27T04:09:04Z

i was already late for work early this morning when i was shuffling past the trident towers in buendia when a man called out a question to me. i almost missed his query because i was consumed by my thoughts, and it may have been the reason that i failed to realize the profound underpinnings of the situation. "boss," the man interrupted me with a wave of his hand, even though i was still 3 steps away from him. "san ba dito matatagpuan ang pag-ibig?" i stopped after taking two more steps, turned around, and pointed to a blue building across the street, about 100 meters away. i resumed walking and didn't even stop to acknowledge his gratitude, but as the word "salamat" sunk deeper into me, i felt something strange inside me when i began to deconstruct the innocuous question, and interpret it as a metaphor for my own aimless wanderings. i have never asked the question myself, not because i know the answer, but because maybe i refuse to recognize the fact that it's something that i am looking for. i have long denied it: not that i am unloved or am incapable of loving -- i have family and friends to provide me with all the emotions that make me feel fuzzy inside -- but i have repeatedly refused to say whether i would ever be settling down. i have said it before and i will say it again: i have fears of commitment.

i know that a lot of people worry about finding someone to spend the rest of their lives with. i have never found myself in that situation. i value my solitude: i find it serene and uncomplicated, and i have seldom been lonely. i don't think i have ever had a bout of depression, in the clinical sense. anything that may have brought about a similar emotion in me in the past was due to over-intellectualization. i still have a tendency to overthink things but i have successfully fought back this sinking feeling that drains all of my energies. but maybe this is just how effective my defense mechanisms are, and that i have more or less given in to the powers of suggestion: if i keep telling myself that i don't need someone, or that a (soul) mate is a creation of people who cannot be complete in themselves, then i will believe it.

recently, i complained about how i am unable to do many of the things i would like to do. i said, i just can't find the time. but could it also be that i am just uninspired? then the next question would be: have i used up all my internal inspirational reserves, that i need an outside source to provide me with reasons to go on dreaming?

i had just helped a man find something he was looking for. i don't know how soon i would come around to asking the same question, and whether the answer would be as simple as pointing to a given direction.